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1 






1 





THROUGH 

STRESS AND STORM 

ii 

^ THE STARS IN THEIR COURSES 


BY 


GREGORY BROOKE 


THE 


Bbbcy press 


PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 
NEW YORK 





Library of Congrosa 

Two Copies Rcceivcd 

DEC 7 1900 

^ Copycigfit entry 

SECOND COPY 

0«((v««d to 

OROEK DIVISION 

DEC £2 19QQ 


' ^3 
T 


Copyright, 1900, 
by 
THE 

Hbbc>> press 

in 

the 

United States 
and 

Great Britain. 


All Rights Reserved, 


CO^JTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. PioK 

Sergeant Grover Hart 5 

CHAPTER II. 

The Country Doctor 16 

CHAPTER HI. 

The Rescue 40 

CHAPTER IV. 

Evelyn’s Note 63 

CHAPTER V. 

The Doctor s Reply 99 

CHAPTER VI. 

Evelyn’s Response 124 

• CHAPTER VH. 

Playing with Fire 132 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A Provisional Acceptance 161 

CHAPTER IX. 

Acting in Haste 190 

CHAPTER X. 

“ AU’s Well that Ends Well 213 







Cbrousb Stress and Storm. 

I. 

Sergeant Grover Hart 

“Detail for picket to-morrow, Sergeant 
Grover Hart, of Company D.” 

The tent into which Orderly- Sergeant Knight 
crawled, rather than walked, to give the fore- 
going order, was one of thousands of the same 
kind used by both officers of the line and sol- 
diers in the campaign of the army of the Poto- 
mac, from the Rapidan to the James, in the year 
1864. It was called by courtesy a shelter tent, 
but was commonly spoken of by the soldiers as 
a “dog” tent, because it resembled a dog ken- 
nel more than a human habitation. 

Its structure was very simple. Two slender, 
forked sticks, about four feet long, were set up 


6 Through Stress and Storm. 

six feet apart, with the ends of a light pole, six 
feet long, laid in the forks. On this pole was 
stretched a covering consisting of two pieces of 
thin, cotton cloth six feet square, fastened to- 
gether so as to form one piece six feet wide and 
nearly twelve feet long, the ends being fastened 
to the ground by short stakes. Another piece 
six feet square closed one end of this rude shel- 
ter, if such it could be called. For the wind 
blew where it listed, so far as a fabric of this 
kind was concerned, the rain evidently regarded 
it as a pleasant joke, and the cold entered with- 
out ceremony. 

The interior of the tent which Orderly Knight 
entered presented substantially the same appear- 
ance as did the inside of nearly every one of 
the thousands and tens of thousands of tents 
which formed an unbroken line, in the rear of 
the many miles of strong earthworks and frown- 


Sergeant Grover Hart. 7 

ing batteries which threatened the defenders of 
the beleaguered city of Petersburg. 

A thick carpet of pine boughs covered the 
ground, and on this three coarse blankets were 
spread. Two short, leather straps, looped over 
the ridgepole, held three burnished Springfield 
rifles, loaded and primed. At the rear end of 
the tent, depending from short branches of the 
sapling which formed one of the supports to the 
ridge-pole, were three haversacks containing 
food, three tin canteens filled with water, and 
three cartridge boxes, each holding forty rounds 
of ammunition. At the same end of the tent 
three knapsacks lay in a row, each affording 
as comfortable a substitute for a pillow as was 
obtainable under the circumstances. 

This disposition of arms and accouterments, 
had evidently been made not so much for con- 
venience as for availability at any moment. 


8 Through Stress and Storm. 

Two of the soldiers occupying the tent, Johnson 
and Parker, had lain down for the night, after 
removing their coats and shoes only ; for dur- 
ing that battle year of the Civil War, the men of 
the Army of the Potomac were for more than 
two hundred days almost constantly engaged in 
conflict with the enemy; seldom enjoying an 
hour undisturbed by missiles from hostile weap- 
ons, and not often allowing their foemen to 
forget their proximity for a moment; and the 
necessity for their being at all times on the 
alert, always ready to make or repel an attack, 
was so great, that the men who were with 
Grant in 1864 could say with the men who were 
with Nehemiah, more than two thousand years 
before, “None of us put off our clothes, saving 
that every one put them off for washing;” and 
washing days in the army were neither frequent 
nor regular in their coming. 


Sergeant Grover Hart. 9 

The third occupant of the tent, a youthful 
soldier with a frank countenance and clear, hon- 
est eyes, sat reading a book by the light of a 
candle held in the ring of a bayonet, the point 
of the weapon being thrust into the ground. He 
received his assignment to duty for the follow- 
ing day with a pleasant smile and an, “All 
right, orderly,’’ and at once resumed his read- 
ing. 

But as soon as the orderly sergeant was out of 
hearing, the tent-mates of Sergeant Grover 
Hart began to assail him with a fusillade of 
badinage, of the sort with which they and their 
comrades were wont to divert their thoughts 
from the dangers and hardships to which they 
were constantly exposed. 

“Say, Hart,” began Parker, “I’m really 
afraid to have you on picket, to-morrow. 
You’ll do well enough through the day, but 


lo Through Stress and Storm. 

when night comes you^l be looking at the stars, 
and never see the Johnny rebs coming; and 
they’ll gather you in, sure. You’d better go to 
the captain, pretend that you’re sick and get 
excused, or else pray for cloudy weather.” 

“You haven’t counted the stars to-night. 
Grove,” said Johnson, taking up the matter so 
as to give Parker time to invent some new bit 
of sarcasm. “You’d better go out and look 
after them. Some of ’em may have got away.” 

“Grove has had no eyes for the stars or for 
anything else since he got hold of that book that 
his sweetheart sent him,” said Parker, replying 
to Johnson’s suggestion. 

“It wasn’t his sweetheart who sent that 
book,” said Johnson, continuing the conversa- 
tion with Parker for Hart’s benefit. “It was 
Emeline Somebody-or-other who sent it. I saw 
her name in the book. And she didn’t send it 


Sergeant Grover tTart. ii 

to Grove either. You see Emeline is a giddy 
young thing of forty-five or thereabouts, and 
lives in Philadelphia. And when some of the 
folks sent a box of good things to the soldiers, 
Emeline packed that book in the box, hoping it 
would fall into the hands of some gallant and 
good-looking young oflSoer, and that would be 
‘so romantic!’ But as ill luck would have it, 
or on account of some ‘unpropitious star,’ as 
Hart would say, the book was given to Grove. 
Don’t I wish that Emeline could look in here 
now, and see what kind of a jay it is that her 
book fell to I My! Wouldn’t her vinegar face 
turn the milky-way into clabber?” 

Here Johnson stopped; but Parker was by 
this time ready to go on. 

“Say, Johnson, I’ll tell you what I’m going 
to do. ‘When thjs cruel war is over’ and I go 
to Philadelphia, as I certainly shall before go- 


12 Through Stress and Storm. 

ing home to Ohio, I’ll call on Emeline. I can 
find her address in Hart’s book. I’ll pretend 
that I’ve come to tell her of the sad fate of Colo- 
nel Highfalutin, who died on the battlefield 
covered with glory and murmuring her name. 
That will be romance in more ways than one. 
In that way I can see what she looks like and 
tell you.” 

“You’ll probably find that she looks like 
sixty,” said Johnson. 

“ Oh, she is a girl so blithe and gay, 

And she lives in Phil-a-ma-del-phi-a!” 

sang Parker mockingly. 

“ Her face is so fair, and her clothes so fine. 

They call her the charming Emeline,” 

responded Johnson. 

“Will you two idiots shut up?” said Hart 
coloring angrily. “Haven’t you sense enough 


Sergeant Grover Hart. 13 

to know that such talk isn’t even decent when 
it’s about a girl who has done a kindness to us 
soldiers? In the first place, though you fellows 
will wait a long time before you find out what 
her name is, it isn’t Emeline. In the next place, 
instead of being an old maid, or even a young 
woman, she’s a little girl. She has heard or 
read of the hardships and privations we suffer, 
and has tried to do something to make our lives 
more pleasant, or at least more endurable. I 
am only sorry that the love and good will for the 
soldiers which sprang up in the heart of a little 
girl and blossomed into a beautiful deed, should 
have suffered the fate of being like a pearl cast 
before swine.” 

He blew out the candle spitefully and lay 
down, first carefully placing in his knapsack 
the little book he had been reading. 

“I’m glad those fellows didn’t know how 


14 Through Stress and Storm. 

much their talk cut me up,” he said to himself. 
True, they were talking only in fun; but it 
couldn’t have hurt me worse if what they said 
had been about a dear friend of mine, or even 
a sister. Of course the boys meant no disrespect 
to the girl ; but the opportunity to tease and an- 
noy me was too good to be lost. 

“I’ll read the little girl’s book and then send 
it home so that it can never fall into the hands 
of either Johnson or Parker, to be made sport 
of by them. I don’t need it to help me remem- 
ber either her name or her address. It is a 
good book and a helpful one, and I’ll write to 
her and tell her so, and thank her for sending 
it to me. 

But how familiar her name seems ! I am sure 
that I have never seen it nor heard it, and yet 
it comes into my mind as if I had both seen and * 
heard it hundreds and hundreds of times, and 


Sergeant Grover Hart. 15 

for a great many years. But I have never been 
in Philadelphia and don’t know a single soul 
there. Where on earth can I have seen or heard 
that name? Perhaps it wasn’t on earth that I 
knew it. Now that I think of it, it must have 
been when I was living on Neptune three hun- 
dred and fifty millions of years ago ! 

Laughing silently at this — to him — strange 
conceit, he fell asleep, to dream of flying from 
world to world and from star to star, in search 
of the one whose name was written in a round, 
unformed, schoolgirl hand on the flyleaf of 
the book he had been reading, thus : 

“Evelyn Atherly, 

“No. 78 Tenth Avenue, 
“Philadelphia, Pa.” 


1 6 Through Stress and Storm. 


n. 

The Gjuntry Doctor. 

The highway along which Dr. Grover 
Hart was slowly driving, on a bright morning 
in June, two years after the close of the war, 
was as uninteresting and devoid of everything 
which could be called picturesque, as a country 
road could well be; but to one with sharp eyes, 
quick ears, and a mind habituated to recognize 
with keen appreciation the charms which Nature 
displays to those who intelligently woo her, it 
was a way of light, beauty and melody. 

At the bridge over the river which formed 
the line of demarcation between the village and 
the country, the road turned slightly to the 
right, and thence followed the general direction 
of the stream. Neither road nor river followed 


The Country Doctor. 17 

a straight course, but each took its way with- 
out reference to the course of the other; the road 
never receding from the river to any considera- 
ble distance, and in places approaching the bank 
of the stream as closely as was consistent with 
the safety of those who had occasion to pass 
that way. 

This road had been a thoroughfare from 
about the time when Jesus of Nazareth was 
teaching in Galilee and Judea. It was first 
traveled by the aborigines of the central part of 
the North American continent, that mysterious 
people whom we call the mound builders; a 
race of which there is no history. The forms 
of the countless multitudes and generations of 
men, women and children who once peopled 
this portion of the world pass before the imagi- 
native eye of the antiquarian like ghostly 
shadows, coming out of impenetrable darkness, 


1 8 Through Stress and Storm. 

and disappearing in still deeper darkness, leav- 
ing behind them not one written or engraved 
character, word or line to tell their story. 

It was that strange, unknown people who 
first used this way in going from one of their 
villages to another, the site of these villages be- 
ing where two large towns now stand. When 
fierce hordes of alien enemies swept down from 
the northwest, the effeminate mound builder re- 
tired before the stronger barbarians almost 
without a struggle. He left his villages and 
cultivated fields to become a part of the 
wilderness, the hunting ground of the conquer- 
ing savages. 

These savages we habitually miscall the 
American Indian. There are two objections 
to this appellation : The first is, that they were 
not American by ancestry; their ancestors 
were emigrants from Asia. The second is that 


The Country Doctor. 19 

their ancestors did not live in India, but were 
Mongol- Tartars from the region which is now 
the northeastern part of China. 

In process of time the path which had been 
trodden by the mound builders, became a run- 
way for deer. Afterward the savage hunter ap- 
propriated it, and it became an Indian trail. 
This trail the white man followed when he 
came across the Alleghanies, with wife and 
children, to make a home in what was then the 
far West. And thus the trail became a thor- 
oughfare, known to this day as the Territorial 
Road, because it was used as a highway when 
the state through which it runs was a territory. 

But it is safe to assert that never was any 
mound builder, Indian or pioneer, so interested 
in the scene disclosed to his eye as was Grover 
Hart at every foot of the distance traversed by 
him on that lovely June morning. The first 


20 Through Stress and Storm. 

part of the way led through a dense forest, the 
small trees growing so close to the traveled part 
of the highway as to leave barely room for two 
vehicles to pass each other. 

On the left side of the road, a dilapidated 
worm fence was fast falling to decay. Along 
one of the lower rails of this fence a ground 
squirrel was coursing, leaping lightly from rail 
to rail at the corners of the fence, keeping a few 
feet ahead of the horse, but looking back at him 
continually as if challenging him to a race. 
After keeping on in this way for a time, and 
finding that the horse did not seem to be in- 
clined to accept the challenge, the squirrel left 
the fence and plunged into the wood. At the 
same time he gave chattering, clamorous utter- 
ance to what Dr. Hart interpreted as being vitu- 
perative ridicule of the horse, in language quite 
unlike the love-call of this little rodent, which 


The Country Doctor. 21 

bad led the early settlers of the country to give 
him the name “chipmunk.” 

Bending to the right, the road ran so close to 
the bank of the river as to bring into view a 
kingfisher, perched on a dead branch overhang- 
ing the stream, fishing without hook, line or 
bait. One could hardly look at him without 
laughing at his comical appearance, his dumpy 
body, short neck and awkwardly tilted head. 
To the dwellers in the waters below, he was a 
noiseless thunderbolt. Shooting from his perch 
like an arrow, his feet drawn close to his body, 
wings folded and beak pointing straight for- 
ward, he would cleave the water as silently as 
a fish swims. In an instant he would return to 
the surface, with or without a prize, as his skill 
or luck might determine. If successful he flew 
in silence to one of the trees near by, and there 
devoured his prey. If he missed his aim, then 


2 2 Through Stress and Storm. 

on emerging from the water he broke forth into 
vociferous, strident cackling, like idiotic laugh- 
ter, as if he were making mirth at his own mis- 
adventure. 

At almost every foot of the way, the eye of 
Grover Hart fell upon some object, or his ear 
caught some sound which filled his sensitive soul 
with delight. The sheen on the surface of the 
river ; the green of the grass and leaves ; the 
bright hues of the wild flowers; the delicate 
texture of the mosses; the stately forest trees; 
the light clouds, flecking with white the azure 
of the sky; the song of the many varieties of 
birds then tenanting the woods and fields ; the 
blithe whistle of the oriole, the scream of the 
hawk, the boomjng of the partridge; all these, 
with unnumbered other sights and sounds, were 
noted by him with the keen zest of hopeful, 
healthful youth. To him life was joyous; every 


The Country Doctor. 23 

breath of the pure, invigorating air a luxury. 
Everything seen or heard by him was some- 
thing to be observed, studied, thought upon, 
appropriated. In this way it became a part of 
the best and most valuable knowledge one can 
gain — that which comes from patient, diligent, 
intelligent observation. 

On turning one of the many curves in the 
road. Dr. Hart became aware of the not alto- 
gether pleasing fact that, for at least a part of 
his ride, he was to have the company of his for- 
mer tentmate, Richard Parker. The latter was 
walking in the same direction Dr. Hart was 
taking, and the doctor recognized him at once 
by his erect, firm, graceful carriage, and easy, 
swinging stride. These revealed the infantry 
soldier who had seen years of service. 

The salutation between the two was curt, 
though kindly: 


24 Through Stress and Storm. 

“Morning, Grove!’* 

“Morning, Dick. Ride?” 

“Don’t care if I do. Where you going?” 

“Going down to see old Mr. Gar butt. How 
far are you going?” 

“Oh, I’ve struck a little job down to Callen- 
der’s. You see Callender has some city cousins 
come to visit him. Regular swell people, I tell 
you, and no mistake. The old gentleman — 
though he isn’t very old — has lots of cash, I 
should say. But he’s every inch a gentleman, 
and no snob. His wife is one of the best-look- 
ing women I ever saw. And they have a daugh- 
ter with them who’s prettier than the prettiest 
picture you ever set your eyes on. Then there’s 
a niece, or something of that sort, with them. 
She’s not so pretty as the daughter, but mighty 
good looking.” 


The Country Doctor. 25 

“But what has all that to do with your being 
at Callender’s?” asked Dr. Hart. 

“You see it’s this way,” answered Parker. 
“These people dropped down on Callender 
rather unexpected like, and naturally he wants 
to tidy up a bit about the house. And that’s 
what I’m doing just now. But I just wish you 
could see those girls, Grove!” 

“Why do you want me to see them?” asked 
Hart indifferently. 

But before his question could be answered, a 
vigorous pull on the reins, a sharp “Whoa” to 
the horse, and Dr. Hart sprang lightly to the 
ground. 

“What’s up now. Grove?” asked Parker. 

“I want to look into the nest on that thorn 
bush and see what that robin is doing.” 

“That’s you, Grove Hart, for all the world! 
Always poking about to pry into something no 


26 Through Stress and Storm. 

one else cares a farthing for. That’s just as 
you used to do in the army.” 

“Look I” exclaimed Hart enthusiastically, 
holding up a small object between his thumb 
and forefinger, while the mother bird flew away 
with a protest and complaint in bird language. 
“Just look at that egg the first of four from 
which will come a second brood, or, rather, an 
extra brood of young. You see the old bird has 
hatched one brood this year, but in some way 
the young birds were destroyed very soon after 
they were hatched. And so the mother instinct 
leads her to attempt the raising of another 
brood out of season. For it is past the time for 
the first brood, and quite too early for the sec- 
ond. Cases of this sort are very rare, and none 
are mentioned by any ornithologist whose works 
I have read. But the}’ do occur sometimes, as I 
have more than once observed.” 


The Country Doctor. 27 

“Well, what of it?” asked Parker, looking 
bored. 

“What of it?” echoed Hart. “Where are 
your eyes, man? Don’t you see that this little 
egg which I hold in my fingers, is one of the 
most wonderful things that God ever created? 
Look at it I Notice its color, first. Did you ever 
see anything in nature or art having the exact, 
delicate shade of blue that you see here? Dyers 
have a shade of color that they call robin’s-egg 
blue. It resembles the color of this egg about 
as much as the color of the green blinds on 
yonder house resembles tbe green that tinges 
the waters of the ocean. 

“Then think of its structure. First, a thin, 
firm, porous, spheroidal wall. This is lined 
with a membrane tough as silk, soft as velvet. 
Next, a clear, colorless fluid, seven parts of 
water to one of albumen. Inside of that is a 


28 Through Stress and Storm. 

beautifully colored globe of albumen, water, 
oil, soda, lime, phosphorus and other chemical 
elements in solution. Within this globe is a 
germinal vesicle containing a nucleal spot, a 
mere microscopic dot. 

“From center to circumference it is a thing of 
beauty ; but you would search it in vain for one 
indication of life. Lay it aside, and in a few 
days it will be resolved into its elements, with- 
out life or appearance of life. 

“But let it have the thought and hope and 
love of the mother bird, and her brooding care 
for a few days, and this bit of lifeless matter 
will soar and sing. God must have taken mil- 
lions on millions of years learning how to fash- 
ion an egg like this.” 

“Why, Grove Hart! How dare you say that? 
If Parson Lett were to hear you talk in that 
way, he’d call the elders and deacons of your 


The Country Doctor. 29 

church together, and have you turned out of 
the church for blasphemy, as sure as you live.’* 

“And yet good old Parson Lett has no greater 
reverence for God than I have. And I doubt 
very much whether he appreciates the power 
and wisdom of God as highly as I do. And 
I am sure that he doesn’t believe in the imma- 
nence of God in all the operations of nature and 
in all the affairs of the universe as firmly as I 
do. If Parson Lett were shown this egg, he 
might not say, as you did, ‘What of it?’ But 
he would, very likely, talk about the wise pro- 
vision which the God of nature has made for 
the perpetuation of His creatures of every spe- 
cies. He would look upon this egg as some- 
thing produced in the order of nature, and ow- 
ing its present existence and future life to its 
parent birds. 

“But to me this egg is the veritable handi- 


30 Through Stress and Storm, 

work of God. And the life that will be de- 
veloped in it by and by will be due to the di- 
rect action of the will of God, just as we are 
told that ‘God breathed into man the breath of 
life, and man became a living soul.’ ” 

“Then you don’t believe in evolution, that 
Parson Lett preaches against so often?” said 
Parker. 

“Most certainly I do. And my belief in evo- 
lution arises from the observation, study and 
thought which I have given to the phenomena 
of nature, wholly apart from what theologians 
term ‘revelation.’ 

“And by the same means I have been led to 
believe that God is present in all the operations 
of that which we call nature. It is to me some- 
thing more than a filmy, shadowy belief. It is 
a most profound conviction, one that reaches to 
the very depths of my being, that all things 


The Country Doctor. 31 

which have been, are, or will be — life, death, 
matter, soul, spirit — all these are plastic ma- 
terial in the hands of God which He fashions 
as He will ; that moment by moment, and age 
by age, is working out His own great prob- 
lems, and constantly improving on His own 
work. That is what evolution means to me.” 

“This talk is getting too deep for me. Grove, ” 
said Parker; “and of course you can outtalk 
me, as you always did in the army. All the 
same, I can’t understand how what you say 
can be true, if God has always existed and has 
always been all- wise.” 

“I cannot doubt that God has always ex- 
isted,” replied Hart; “nor can I doubt that He 
has always been omniscient. To me it is un- 
thinkable that there was ever a time when God 
did not possess the sum of all the wisdom that 
existed in the universe. 


32 Through Stress and Storm. 


“But this does not prove that God is incapa- 
ble of increase in wisdom as well as in power 
and in love. God would not be God if He were 
so limited as to be incapable of change. And I 
cannot help believing that God is all the time 
working out His own problems with the in- 
finite resources at His command — resources 
which He brings out of His own measureless 
being — and that He is continually improving 
on His own work. 

“In proof of this, look at the history of this 
earth since it first became the abode of life. 
Note how God has, age after age, and, with in- 
finite care and patience, fashioned, remodeled 
and changed the physical forms and mental 
qualities of the beings that dwell upon it. Has 
this been through mere caprice on the part of 
God?’’ 

“But,” said Parker, who until this time had 


The Country Doctor. 33 

failed to manifost a shadow of interest in the 
talk of his companion, -‘isn’t it more reasonable 
to believe that all those changes came about 
through the operation of natural law than to 
suppose it to be the work of a Creator?” 

“I am enough of a Yankee,” replied Hart, 
“to answer your question by asking another. 
What is meant by the words ‘natural law?’ 
There can be no such thing as law, without a 
lawmaker. No law could prescribe itself. Law 
is a result of intelligence. A machine which 
forges nails, or weaves carpets, does so because 
some one designed it for that purpose. And 
if the product of the machine changes, it is be- 
cause some intelligence has willed that it should 
do so. The supposition that a force, acting 
wholly without intelligence, could produce re- 
sults indicating the highest intelligence, is not 
only illogical, it is wholly inconceivable.” 


34 Through Stress and Storm. 

“But/* said Parker, as if unwilling to give 
up the argument; “isn’t it more in harmony 
with our ideas of God’s majesty to think of God 
as having set certain laws in operation, and 
then leaving them to work out their results, in- 
stead of troubling Himself to keep at work 
every day, like a carpenter or blacksmith?” 

“Not if we think of Him as an infinite be- 
ing,” answered Hart. “If He is infinite in 
power, then one event is to Him as great as any 
other, and the coloring of a rose leaf as impor- 
tant as the gathering of material with which to 
form a world. 

“If that which has taken place on this earth 
were all that has happened in the universe there 
might be some force in your question. But the 
truth is, that this earth forms so small a part of 
the universe that an astronomer would tell you 
that it is relatively hardly worth considering. 


The Country Doctor. 35 

He would also tell you that the planet in this 
solar system which came into being next before 
the earth was Mars, the ruddy star you can 
see any morning now, if you get up early 
enough. It was made only yesterday, but on 
God’s yesterday, not ours; for it was formed 
millions on millions of years before this earth 
had a separate existence. 

“Now there are on that planet a great num- 
ber of canals which were dug to carry the 
waters from the melting icecaps at the poles 
to the equatorial regions. To dig those canals 
must have required more labor than has been 
done on this earth since Adam pruned the trees 
in the Garden of Eden ; so that we know that 
intelligent beings live there. 

“But if we could communicate with them, I 
don’t believe that we should find them such be- 
ings as we are. I believe that when God had 


36 Through Stress and Storm. 

brought the beings who live on Mars up to a 
high plane of intelligence, though He saw that 
His work there was good, He wanted to do bet- 
ter, and so He made this earth with its plants, 
trees and animals, and, last of all, man. 

“And when we stop to think that there are 
many other planets in this solar system, and 
that there are systems without number in the 
universe, we get a little idea of the size of 
God’s workshop in which He is all the time at 
work.” 

“But isn’t this theory of yours in direct con- 
flict with the Bible?” asked Parker. 

“Not at all,” answered Hart. “The Bible 
tells us — and I believe it to be true — that what- 
ever of good men do is pleasing to God. That 
must mean that God is helped by everything 
which we try to do for Him. And if it be true 
that every sincere prayer that we offer to God 


The Country Doctor. 37 

enables Him to do better by us; if every 
righteous act men do helps God in His govern- 
ment of the world ; if the little love we give to 
Him makes Him love us much more ; then the 
power and love .of God are increased by the acts, 
thoughts and feelings of His creatures. And 
if God is capable of gaining in power and love, 
why may He not be capable of gaining in wis- 
dom also? 

“But I haven’t yet finished my answer to 
your question,” Hart continued, somewhat hur- 
riedly, for Parker was beginning to show signs 
of restlessness under what he was mentally 
characterizing as a “preachment,” though too 
polite to say so. “I have it also from the Bible 
that God made man in his own image. That 
can mean nothing else than that my spirit is, in 
its higher and better attributes, like unto God’s 
spirit. And among the highest and best emo- 


38 Through Stress and Storm. 

tions of my being is the desire for knowledge. 
Ever since I became old enough to study, ob- 
serve and think, I have given nearly every 
moment of my spare time to study and observa- 
tion. My days and nights have been devoted 
to watching the stars in the sky, delving in the 
earth under my feet, observing the various 
forms and manifestations of vegetable and ani- 
mal life, with which the earth abounds, and 
trying to learn the truths which are taught in 
the great book of nature which God keeps open 
at all times before our eyes. 

‘‘Now the desire for knowledge, the longing 
to be constantly engaged in the search after 
truth, has become the supreme passion of m}^ 
life. And with every truth that I discover for 
myself there comes into my soul a feeling of 
happiness, because my knowledge has been in- 
creased through the operations of my mind.” 


The Country Doctor. 39 

“And I say it as reverently as sincerely, 
that unless nmy feelings in this regard are akin 
to something which God feels, then I am not 
made in His image. But I believe, as confi- 
dently as I believe in my own existence, that in 
every discovery which I make of a truth that 
is new to me, my mind is following the mind of 
God. But God is millions of ages ahead of me 
in His thoughts, and His wisdom is as much 
greater than mine as His boundless universe is 
greater than my mortal frame.” 


40 Through Stress and Storm. 


III. 

The Rescue* 

From the place where Grover Hart held his 
discussion — if such it could be called — with 
Richard Parker, it was less than half a mile to 
a point where the road curved to the right until 
it ran along the brow of a declivity sloping 
down to the bank of the river. On the left a 
carriage way might be seen leading to some 
farm buildings, partly concealed among the 
trees by which they were surrounded. Here 
Parker stepped out of the vehicle in which he 
had been riding with Dr. Hart, and walked 
briskly up the carriage road, leaving the doctor 
to pursue his way to the home of his patient. 

The house at which Parker soon arrived was 


The Rescue. 


41 

of a type by no means uncommon in that neigh- 
borhood. It was a large, rectangular building, 
two stories high, constructed of plain, dull-red 
brick. The windows contained many panes of 
glass of small size. The exterior woodwork 
was painted a staring white, the window blinds 
a bright green. Four huge, wooden columns 
upheld a projection of the roof to the front, cov- 
ering a balcony and a porch. 

On this porch Parker -observed his employer, 
John Callender, with his wife and daughter, all 
attired in what they called their “Sunday best” 
instead of their ordinary working-day clothes. 
They were engaged in the, to them, unusual, 
and not wholly congenial task of entertaining 
the four other occupants of the porch. These 
were a gentleman, a lady, and two girls, the 
four being the “city cousins” of whom Parker 
had spoken in his talk with Dr. Hart. 


42 Through Stress and Storm. 

The young people formed a little group by 
themselves. One of the visitors was amusing 
herself by throwing a ball, to which a string 
was attached, to a gray kitten, and watching 
the antics of the latter as the ball was slowly 
drawn in by the cord, despite the cuffing, claw- 
ing and biting of the young mouser. 

The younger of the visitors, a girl whose mo- 
bile face disclosed every emotion of her mind as 
plainly as sunlight and shadow are visible in a 
landscape, sat with an open book resting on her 
lap. Her eyes were fixed on the face of the 
daughter of the house, and she was listening at- 
tentively and with apparent interest to the 
words of the latter, who was telling of an inci- 
dent which had occurred in the neighborhood 
but a short time before. 

The narrative ended, there was a short pause 
in the conversation, and then the narrator — hav- 


The Rescue. 


43 

ing evidently exhausted her store of entertain- 
ing talk for the time — said : “Girls, I’ll tell you 
what we’ll do. We’ve walked nearly all over 
this old farm and have been riding all about 
the country for miles, but we haven’t been down 
to the river yet. I propose that we take a little 
stroll down to the bank of the river and get a 
good view of it. It’s only a short distance from 
here, and it’s pretty down there at this time of 
the year.” 

“Excuse me, Sarah,” said the older girl; 
“but suppose you and Evelyn go, and let me 
stay here. You can do more to entertain me 
by leaving me to play with this kitten than in 
any other way. The fact is that with the long 
journey from Kansas City here, and our going 
about so much since I’ve been here, I’m dead 
tired. But Evelyn will be glad to go. She’s 
always crazy to go where there’s water.” 


44 Through Stress and Storm. 

“Yes,” said the younger girl, smiling pleas- 
antly; “I shall be glad to go, I am sure. I am 
always delighted to be near the water. Aunty 
says that when I was a baby she could do noth- 
ing that would make me so happy as to let me 
sit on the floor by a shallow tub of water, and 
paddle in it with my hands to my heart’s con- 
tent. I ought to have been a mermaid, except 
that I’m not very fond of combing my hair.” 

Going down the steps, leading from the porch 
to the ground, the two girls took their way 
along a footpath bordered on either side by a 
row of Lombardy poplars. The Lombardy 
poplar is a Pharisee among trees. It sends its 
roots straight down into the earth, and its 
trunk straight into the air. It gathers its boughs 
close about its stem, as if afraid of contamina- 
tion. Thus it robs itself of nourishment, air and 
sunlight, in order that it may give as little 


The Rescue. 


45 

shade and shelter as possible. But it was at 
one time the fashion in the country to plant the 
Lombardy poplar. And the dictates of fashion 
— whether it be in dress, in the style or color of 
houses, or in the planting of trees — are as serv- 
ilely obeyed in the country as in the city. 

The path followed by the girls ran parallel 
with the carriage way up which Parker had 
come from his ride with Grover Hart. It ended, 
as did the carriage way, at the Territorial 
Road. After one had crossed the highway it 
was but a few yards down a steep incline, so 
steep that the path took a diagonal course down 
the slope — to the bank of the river. 

‘T think it’s a burning shame,” said Sarah 
Callender, when the two were fairly away from 
the house, “that you must hurry on home before 
we’ve had half a visit from you. Indeed, I’ve 
just begun to get acquainted with you.” 


46 Through Stress and Storm. 

“I am more sorry than you,” replied Evelyn, 
“that we must go so soon, for I have enjoyed 
being here more than I can tell you. But you 
know that we were detained in Kansas City 
much longer than we expected. And my uncle 
has so much to do that he doesn’t think that he 
can stop working on his paintings, even to take 
the rest that he needs. It is only of late that 
people have begun to recognize his ability as an 
artist, and now orders come so fast that he can- 
not keep up with them. But here, we are at the 
river. How beautiful it is and how majestic, 
tool” 

“Yes; it is lovely and grand,” replied 
Sarah. “We have a boat in that boathouse. 
Wouldn’t you like to go out on the water for a 
little while?” 

“I should like it of all things,” Evelyn an- 
swered. “Do you row?” 


The Rescue. 


47 

“Oh, yes; I row a great deal,’’ answered 
Sarah. “Just help me a little to steady the 
boat and keep it on the ways. It will go down 
to the water without pushing. It’s afloat now. 
Get in and take that seat in the stern. I’ll row. 
We’ll go up stream first, and then float down.” 

A few skillful strokes with the oars sent the 
boat well out into the stream. Then began 
the more difficult task of pulling against the 
current, which at that point was rapid and 
strong. “It will be slow work going up 
stream,” said the rower to Evelyn; “but the 
floating down with the current will be delight- 
ful.” 

“You row well,” said Evelyn, after some 
moments; “and we are really making good prog- 
ress. I know that putting my hands in the 
water as I am doing must hinder your efforts 
somewhat, but the temptation to do so is too 


48 Through Stress and Storm. 

strong to be resisted. I love to be on the water 
and to dip my hands in it; but I didn’t quite 
mean what I said at the bouse, that I should 
like to live in the water like a mermaid. 

“The fact is I don’t like to be in the water at 
all. We go to the seashore for a short time 
every summer, but it is very seldom that I can 
be persuaded to go into the water. Indeed, I 
am usually afraid to do so ; for I fear the sea 
most when it is in one of its quiet, playful, 
alluring moods. If I allow it to entice me into 
its waters it kisses me, caresses me, embraces 
me; but I know all the time that if I should be 
off my guard for a moment it would drown me. 

“And yet I admire and revere the sea more 
than I do any other of the great objects or forces 
on this earth. Mountains are majestic, but the 
sea is sublime ! And it is most sublime when 
it is in one of its tempestuous moods. Men talk 


The Rescue. 


49 

of ‘the angry ocean.* But the ocean is never 
angry; it is too great, too powerful to become 
angry. When the invisible spirit of the air 
moves it mightily, then it lifts itself on high 
and beats the shore with blows that are esti- 
mated in their force by tons. Thus it destroys 
things that are weak, or worthless, or false, and 
spares only the strong, the enduring and the 
true. 

“And to me it is a type of some men of whom 
I have heard or read. These men, moved by 
some great impulse, some divine spirit, dealt tre- 
mendous blows upon what seemed to be the 
foundations of the social, moral or religious 
world. But only that which was weak or 
worthless or false was swept away. All that 
was strong and valuable and true remained. 
But what boat is that coming around the bend 
below us?** 


50 Through Stress and Storm. 

“That,” answered Sarah, “is a little steamer 
used only for pleasure riding. It makes no 
regular trips, but carries parties from the city, 
ten miles below here, to any point on the river 
where it is navigable. It seems to have a pic- 
nic party aboard. They will probably land at 
a little grove two or three miles above here. 
As soon as the steamer goes past I’ll pull into 
its wake, and the swell will rock the boat de- 
lightfully.” 

Just how it came about no one could after- 
ward tell with certainty. But it so happened 
that as soon as the boat was fairly in the track 
of the steamer, one of the oars was in some way 
caught by a wave. This caused the boat to give 
a sudden and decided lurch to the right. As 
the occupants instinctively sprang to the left 
side of the boat, it overturned, throwing them 
into the water. 


The Rescue. 


51 

Sarah Callender, being near the bow, man- 
aged to grasp the boat, to which she clung, 
screaming with terror. Her companion was 
instantly swept away by the current, remained 
on the surface of the stream for some time, 
sank, rose again and floated for a short distance, 
then sank again just as Grover Hart, returning 
from a very brief visit to his patient, was driv- 
ing close to the river bank, and took in the sit- 
uation at a glance. 

Without pausing to draw the reins, with a 
quick, sharp command to the horse, he sprang 
from the vehicle with one mighty bound, which 
carried him halfway down the slope. Another 
took him to the brink of the water. With the 
third he was far out in the stream, swimming 
with quick, powerful strokes which soon 
brought him to the spot where the helpless girl 
came to the surface for the last time. In an in- 


52 Through Stress and Storm. 

stant her arm was in the muscular grip of the 
hand of Grover Hart. 

If instead of being in a state of semi-con- 
sciousness, every faculty of her mind had been 
alert, and had her whole being been dominated 
by the opposing emotions of intense, implacable 
hatred and devoted, self-forgetting love, she 
could not not have flung herself upon him with 
more furious self-abandonment. Throwing her 
arms about him and thus pinioning his arms to 
his body, she dragged her would-be rescuer 
into the depths of the rushing river, causing 
him to swallow more water than he would have 
prescribed for a patient under any circum- 
stances. With a supreme effort he lifted both 
himself and her to the top of the water, then, 
putting forth all his strength, he broke her 
grasp upon him, saying to himself the while: 
“Plague take the woman! Does she want to 


The Rescue. 


53 

drown me? I can’t tell why God ever made 
women and fools, generally both;” his agita- 
tion driving grammar, logic and clearness of 
thought wholly from his mind. 

Seizing her by her luxuriant, unbound hair, 
he raised her head well out of the water, threw 
his left arm around her waist, grasped her right 
arm in his left hand, and struck out for the 
shore. He was burdened with the weight of the 
now unconscious girl, and with that of his 
clothing also, of which it had not been possible 
for him to divest himself — not even of so much 
as one garment. But at the instant that he be- 
came conscious of this fact, it recalled to his 
mind that terrible day at Ball’s Bluff when he 
swam from the shore to the island, carrying 
the arms and accouterments of a private soldier, 
amid a rain of bullets. He knew that the pow- 
erful muscles which had upborne him then 


54 Through Stress and Storm. 

would not fail him now. In a very short time 
he had arrived so near the bank of the river 
that he could stand upright and carry his 
burden to the shore. 

Meanwhile the captain of the steamer had 
put about as soon as possible, rescued Sarah 
Callender from her perilous position, and 
ordered that she should be taken ashore in one 
of the steamer’s boats. There she arrived none 
the worse for the accident — saving the fright 
which she had suffered. 

Just as she stepped ashore, the foremost of 
the people from the Callender residence, alarmed 
by her screams, came running to the bank, 
crying, exclaiming, and asking all manner of 
useless questions, as people are apt to do under 
such circumstances. 

“Stand back, every one of you,” shouted Dr. 
Hart imperatively — ^“stand back, and stop talk- 


The RescuCo 


55 

ing. Off with your coat and spread it down 
here.” This to Mr. Callender whom he ad- 
dressed because he was nearest. 

His order being obeyed, he threw his inani- 
mate burden down upon the coat as roughly as 
if the girl had been a log of wood. She fell 
upon her face with her head toward the river. 

Throwing off his coat, from which the water 
was running in streams, Dr. Hart seized the 
unconscious girl by the shoulders, shook her 
vigorously for a moment, then, as delicately 
as a woman could have done it, he changed the 
position of her apparently lifeless form so that 
she lay upon her side with her feet toward the 
river. Snatching a light shawl which Mrs. 
Callender was carrying on her arm, he pressed 
it gently but firmly over the clothing of his 
patient from her neck to her ankles. Then, fling- 
ing the shawl aside, he caught both the hands 


56 Through Stress and Storm. 

of the reclining girl in his own and began chaf- 
ing them with all his might. At the same time 
he called out in quick, decided tones: “Two of 
you women take off her shoes and stockings, 
and rub her feet as hard as ever you can, with 
anything you can get hold of. A dry pocket 
handkerchief will do if you have nothing else. 
Eub them as if her life depended on your efforts, 
as indeed it may. 

“One of you men run to the house and bring 
me a hand bellows, rubber bag, hot- water bot- 
tle — anything that I can inflate with air. 
Another go to my buggy and bring my medi- 
cine case, and be quick about it both of you!” 

« His orders were obeyed as promptly as they 
were given. Callender ran to the house, and 
Parker — who had come with the others — flew 
up the bank and returned almost instantly. The 
doctor opened his medicine case, took out a 


The Rescue. 


57 

small bottle of brandy and a graduate, and 
poured a teaspoonful of the spirits into the 
glass. Then, kneeling by the side of his patient, 
he carefully poured the liquid between her col- 
orless lips, his face meanwhile betraying the 
keenest anxiety. There was heard a strangling 
cough, then a convulsive gasp, followed by the 
welcome sound of hoarse, rattling breathing. 
Gradually the color came back to the pallid face 
of the reclining girl, then her eyelids slowly un- 
closed, and she looked straight into the eyes of 
Dr. Hart, then closed her eyes again, wearily. 

But at the instant that her eyes met his, 
Grover Hart dropped her hand and sprang to 
his feet. His face was as pale as hers had been, 
bis form was trembling as with an ague. His 
agitation was so manifest that some of those 
who were looking on cried out with alarm. 
But their apprehensions were quieted in an in- 


58 Through Stress and Storm. 

stant, as something like a smile came to the 
doctor’s white lips, and his cheery voice an- 
nounced : ‘‘She’s all right now ! Two or three 
of you carry her up to the house and have her 
put to bed at once. Live?” this in reply to an 
anxious inquiry by the artist — “of course she’ll 
live. Don’t give her any spirits or anything 
else except a little nourishment, if she wants it. 
See that she lies in bed all day and that her feet 
and hands are kept warm. She will be as well 
as ever to-morrow. You need nothing more of 
me — ” and seizing his coat from the ground he 
broke away from the group, ignoring an effort 
of the artist to have a word with him, and fairly 
ran up the bank, sprang into his buggy, and 
drove rapidly away. 

But no sooner was he fairly on the way than 
he checked the pace of his horse and let his agi- 
tated thoughts take their course. “Heavens!” 


The Rescue. 


59 

he said to himself, “what a magnificent form 
that girl has! And then her face! Pretty? 
No; decidedly no! Beautful? Yes; emphati- 
cally yes ! No silkworm ever spun a thread so 
fine and soft and glossy as the filaments of her 
brown hair. Her forehead is quite too high 
and projecting to be pretty; but it reveals won- 
derful brain power. And who, since time be- 
gan, ever had such eyes as hers? so large, so 
piercing, so liquid, so tender? 

“One in search of a nose of Grecian type 
wouldn’t look at hers twice; but the woman 
whose face it adorns has strength and decision 
of character, that is certain. Her mouth and 
her eyes are her only really beautiful features, 
and they are transcendently beautiful. And in 
her lips, and in her eyes also, sleep love and 
tenderness and passionate devotion fof him 
who can awaken them. 


6o Through Stress and Storm, 

“And then her complexion! All the words 
which express softness and richness in color 
seem cold, weak and tame when applied to the 
color which nature has given to her face. I 
never saw such colors in nature or art save once. 
It was when the sun had gone down, and the 
crimson glow near the horizon was like the color 
of her lips, while above it the sky was radi- 
antly white, as if the glories of heaven were 
shining through the firmament. 

“If, when Moses came down from the Moun- 
tain of the Law, his face shone as that girl’s face 
did when she opened her eyes after her long 
faint, I don’t wonder that he had to put a veil 
over his face before the people could look upon 
it. I wonder who she is and where she lives?” 

This thought aroused in his mind a feeling of 
irritation amounting almost to anger. “Why 
couldn’t she stay away and leave me alone? 


The Rescue. 6i 

And if she must fall into the water, why did she 
throw herself into my arms and nearly drown 
me when I was trying to save her? Her 
beauty and her clinging helplessness should 
have appealed to some one in her own station 
in life, not to one so much beneath her in every- 
thing as I am. 

“No doubt she feels very condescendingly 
grateful to me. But then^’ — and here his mood 
became softer — “the feeling revealed by her 
eyes when they looked into mine was as kindly 
and trustful as though I were her equal in all 
things, instead of being the miserable, ignorant, 
poverty-stricken village doctor that I am. ’’ 

His bitter meditations were ended by his ar- 
rival in front of the building in which be had 
his office. 

He very slowly alighted from the buggy, 
tied his horse, ascended a flight of stars, trav- 


6^ Through Stress and Storm. 

ersed a short, narrow, dark hall, entered his 
office and looked around on its dingy walls and 
meager, dilapidated furnishings. 

“God pity me!” he said prayerfully. 


Evelyn’s Note< 


63 


IVo 

Evclyn^s Note* 

It was almost noon of the following day 
when, after a long drive in the country, Grover 
Hart found upon his office table a note ad- 
dressed to himself. It had been brought by 
Parker, who had waited for Dr. Hart to return 
until he could wait no longer, and had then 
left the note and gone back to Callender’s. The 
note was inclosed in an envelope which, in tex- 
ture and style, was much finer than any that 
Grover Hart had ever before seen, and which 
bore the impress of an elaborately engraved 
monogram. These things he noted with a feel- 
ing which was neither joy, exultation nor pride, 
but which partook of each of these emotions. 


64 Through Stress and Storm. 

And his heart beat very rapidly as he hastily 
but carefully opened the envelope. He found 
inclosed a dainty, perfumed note containing 
these words : 

“Dear Dr. Hart: Your directions in 
regard to the care and treatment which I should 
receive, were so scrupulously observed that not 
until this morning was I permitted to sit up, 
or talk with any one, or send a message to you, 
although I begged to be allowed to do so yes- 
terday afternoon. I could not even learn your 
name until a few moments ago; so that all 
that I know of you is that to your heroic daring 
I owe my rescue from death. 

“But I know that one who is capable of per- 
forming a deed so noble and brave as was yours 
of yesterday, does not need to be told that 
my appreciation of your heroism is equaled 
only by my gratitude to you, and that each is 
beyond the power of language to express. 

“May I not hope to see you this afternoon and 
tell you, as well as I may be able to do so, how 


65 


Evelyn’s Noteo 

grateful I am to you for saving my life at the 
risk of losing your own? I name a time so 
near in the future, because we shall be obliged 
to leave for home early to-morrow morning. 

“My uncle and aunt, as well as Mr. and Mrs. 
Callender, join me in this request. 

“Sincerely, Evelyn Atherly. 
“June 17th.*’ 


Grover Hart read the note from beginning 
to end eagerly, his heart swelling with very 
happy emotions, until he came to the name sub- 
scribed to the missive. Then the light paper 
fell from his nerveless fingers, he dropped into 
the nearest chair, and covered his face with his 
hands. 

His fate had overtaken him, and he knew it. 
With the reading of that name the eyes of his 
understanding were opened. He was like one 
who has for a long time been vainly trying to 


66 Through Stress and Storm. 

read an important message written in cipher, 
and who suddenly discovers the key. 

Now he understood why his thoughts were 
troubled when he first read that name in his lit- 
tle tent in Virginia. It was plain to him now 
why, when the eyes of Evelyn Atherly first 
looked into his own, the feeling took possession 
of him that in some former time his whole be- 
ing had responded to the most casual glance of 
those same lustrous eyes. Now he knew that 
while it might be that those mysterious 
thoughts and feelings were memories, they were 
surely prophecies. And he was as certain as 
he could have been, if a messenger from heaven 
had revealed it to him, that his whole future 
life would be influenced by the life of the girl 
who had written him that note, and that in 
some way her life would cloud his life with dis- 
appointment and sorrow. 


Evelyn’s Note. 67 

He did not for a moment entertain the 

r 

thought of loving Evelyn Atherly. Had such 
an idea occurred to him, he would have thrust it 
out of his mind as absurd. But it seemed to 
him as if an irresistible attraction was drawing 
him to her, and at the same time an inexplicable 
fear was impelling him to flee from her as far 
as he could go. 

He drew his chair to the table and took up a 
pen to write a note excusing himself from call- 
ing. But he got no farther than the address. 
He had in fact no reasonable excuse for not 
complying with her request, and he would not 
invent one. There was really no way out of it. 
He must go. And he must walk. For he 
would present a most ridiculous appearance to 
Evelyn Atherly were he to use the ugly, sham- 
bling-gaited horse and rattle-trap buggy which 
conveyed him when he visited his few patients. 


68 Through Stress and Storm. 

He took a good look at himself in a mirror 
and saw, not the frank, boyish face and clear, 
honest eyes there reflected, but his cheap, ready- 
made garments. How he wished that he were 
a woodchopper, that he might wear the pic- 
turesque apparel of the followers of that voca- 
tion, But no; he was a poor country doctor, 
and in the garb and guise of a poor country doc- 
tor he must go. 

All the way he reproached himself for going, 
saying to himself, again and again: “Grover 
Hart, you are a fool; a stark, staring fool! 
You would better stay away without apology or 
excuse than to go. You will simply appear 
like a clown with your uneasy, awkward, coun- 
try ways. She won’t laugh at you — she is too 
well-bred for that — but she will be sorry for 
you for your own sake, and that will be worse 
than ridicule. 


Evelyn’s Note. 69 

“And the very sight of her face will create 
in your heart longing without hope, and make 
all your future life miserable. And yet you 
are rushing into this net of your own spreading, 
because a lovely, kind-hearted girl is civil and 
courteous to you.” 

He stopped short almost in sight of Callen- 
der’s house; stood for a moment, irresolutely, 
and then turned and walked rapidly back to his 
office. He had many times faced thundering 
batteries and volleys of musketry ; but he could 
not, would not face what seemed to him to be 
his unhappy destiny. 

“She may think me what she will,” he said 
to himself, “a boor, a cad, a fool; I don’t care. 
God knows my life is hard and bitter enough 
now through poverty, disappointed hopes and 
repressed ambition. She has no right to ask 
me to do that which will make it more hard and 


70 Through Stress and Storm. 

bitter. She is young, beautiful, fascinating. 
Does she think that because I am poor I am 
something less than human? Why didn’t she 
write a note thanking me,^ if she felt bound to 
thank me, and stop at that? 

“But she doubtless asked me to call, thinking 
that I would have sense enough to perceive that 
she wrote that part of the note as a matter of 
courtesy merely, and that I would write a po- 
lite acknowledgment and excuse and stay 
away. I don’t see that I have any occasion to 
blame her for my own want of sense.” 

These meditations were brought to an end by 
his arrival at his office. There he found a boy 
impatiently awaiting his return. 

“Be you the doctor?” wasasked in a hurried, 
tremulous voice, ere the door was swung back 
far enough to allow Dr. Hart to enter his 


room. 


Evelyn’s Note. 71 

“Yes, my boy. What can I do for you?” 

“Aunt Maria wants you to come and see 
Uncle Ben, right away.” ^ 

With some diflSculty Grover Hart repressed 
an almost overmastering inclination to shout 
for very joy. Who “Uncle Ben” might be, and 
why he wanted a physician, were matters of 
no consequence. The important fact was that 
here, right to his hand, was a spendid excuse 
for not calling on Evelyn Atherly. Something 
of his exultation must have been revealed in his 
face or manner to the wondering boy, who 
made haste to say : 

“He’s hurted awfully, and wants you to come 
soon as you can.” 

“All right, my boy,” said the doctor, recov- 
ering himself. “Who is your Uncle Ben?” 

“Uncle Ben Gregor, sir. He lives out on the 


half-mile road.” 


72 Through Stress and Storm. 

“How did he get hurt?” asked the doctor. 

“He was working on the railroad, unloading 
rails; and one of them flew b^ick and caught 
Uncle Ben’s leg between the rail and the car.” 

“Whe-e-w!” ejaculated Dr. Hart, half speak- 
ing, half whistling. “That’s bad. Why didn’t 
they send for the company surgeon, Dr. 
Clifford?” 

“They did; but he ain’t to home, and won’t 
be till day after to-morrow. ” 

“I’ll go at once, if you can carry a note to 
Mr. Callender’s for me. I will have it ready 
in a minute and will give you a quarter for 
carrying it.” 

He sat down to his desk, and after a few min- 
utes handed to the waiting lad a note reading 
thus : 

“Dr. Hart deeply regrets that a very im- 
portant professional engagement will prevent 


Evelyn's NotCo 


73 


his compliance with the kind and highly appre- 
ciated invitation of Miss Atherly, conveyed in 
her note of to-day. 

“June 17th.” 

“That’s suflSciently ceremonious, I hope, to 
show that I don’t presume on her kindness,” he 
said to himself, as he set about making a few 
hurried preparations for his visit to Ben Gregor. 

The distance from his office to the home of 
his patient, though not great, was sufficient to 
give Grover Hart time to reflect on what be had 
done. And the more he thought upon it, the 
more dissatisfled he felt with himself for send- 
ing the note which was now on the way to Eve- 
lyn Atherly. 

First looking cautiously around to see that 
no one was in sight, he took from his pocket the 
note written by Evelyn to him, handling it 
very carefully, as if it were something holy as 


74 Through Stress and Storm. 

well as precious. He scrutinized every letter 
of the superscription, then took the note out of 
the envelope and read it again. This he did 
very slowly, pondering every word as if his life 
depended on his comprehension of its full mean- 
ing. As he proceeded his feelings grew more 
and more tender, until he reached the end. 

“That was a bright idea of mine,” he said to 
himself — ‘ ‘ a very bright idea ! A good-hearted, 
warm-hearted girl, a refined young lady, ex- 
tends to me a courtesy, and I respond to it like 
a clown. I think it would puzzle me to tell why 
I was afraid to go. I paid myself a poor com- 
pliment in assuming that I could not call on a 
young lady and remain in her presence for a 
few minutes without exhibiting clownish awk- 
wardness, or committing some breach of eti- 
quette. If I can ever learn to think a great deal 
less about myself, and to be more anxious to 


Evelyn’s Note. 75 

show good feeling, kindness and courtesy to my 
fellow-men, I shall not have occasion to blame 
myself so often as I do now.” ^ 

The brief account given by the boy who 
brought Dr. Hart word of the accident to Ben 
Cregor, had not prepared the mind of the youth- 
ful surgeon for dealing with the situation in 
which he found his patient. On inquiry he 
learned, to his great surprise, that the accident 
had happened on the preceding day, instead of 
that morning, as he had supposed. The fore- 
man of the working party — or “section boss” as 
he was called — instead of reporting the matter 
at once, as it was his duty to have done, had 
contented himself with directing that Cregor be 
carried home, and that Dr. Clifford, the local 
surgeon for the railroad company, be notified. 
He had assumed that Dr. Clifford would report 
the case and ask assistance. 


76 Through Stress and Storm. 

But it so chanced that before the messenger 
arrived, Dr. Clifford had gone to Cleveland, ex- 
pecting to return in a few hours. So the mes- 
senger went his way, after leaving word with 
the doctor’s office boy that the doctor was to go 
to Cregor’s at once on his return. 

Unfortunately Dr. Clifford was detained in 
the city not a few, but many, hours. So when 
Dr. Hart arrived at Cregor’s house he found 
that Cregor had sustained a compound, com- 
minuted fracture of the leg ; had been lying in 
that condition, suffering excruciating pain, for 
about twenty-four hours, and was rapidly sink- 
ing. 

Grover Hart knew that if the amputation of 
Cregor’s leg should be delayed for another hour 
it would not be possible to save the patient’s 
life. But there was not another surgeon with- 
in ten miles, and the nearest telegraph station 


Evelyn’s Note. 77 

was nearly four miles away; so that the as- 
sistance of another surgeon could not be pro- 
cured in any possible way, within three hours 
at the soonest. 

And yet the canons of his profession forbade 
his attempt to perform alone an operation of 
that character. Should he undertake it and the 
patient die — as would most likely be the case — 
he would be ostracized by the medical frater- 
nity, and his professional career come to an ig- 
nominious end. Should he perform the opera- 
tion and his patient live, the irregularity of his 
act might be overlooked by bis professional as- 
sociates. But he would receive the reverse of 
appreciation or credit on account of his skill in 
performing the operation or the success attend- 
ing it. 

He could not afford to take such a risk. He 
could do no more than to say to those present 


yS Through Stress and Storm. 

that he had been called too late, and to make 
the sufferer’s way to death as free from pain as 
possible. 

And yet it was hard to see a fellow-being die 
and make no effort to save him. Closely fol- 
lowing this thought, there came into the mind 
of Grover Hart the words of one who was in- 
comparable both as a healer and as a teacher : 
“Is it lawful to do good . . . or to do evil? to 
save life or to kill?” With the thought of these 
words the sturdy manhood of Grover Hart as- 
serted itself, and he said to himself : “I’ll not do 
it ! Professional ethics to the winds 1 I’m not 
going to stand by and see one of God’s suffer- 
ing children die, if by any chance I may be 
able to save him. God made me a man before 
I became a surgeon, and with His help I’ll 
make the attempt, come what will.” 

But how to manage it was a serious ques- 


Evelyn’s Note. 79 

tion. Dr. Hart looked around on the few 
people present, to see if there was one on whom 
he could call for assistance in his delicate and 
difficult undertaking. The answer to his men- 
tal inquiry was not encouraging. 

Ben Gregor’s wife — a weak, nervous woman 
— was walking the floor, wringing her hands, 
and echoing her husband’s moans and groans 
and cries. A young lady, a friend of hers, 
Grace Coburn, had been with her since early 
morning, to render such assistance as she could. 
But she was only a young, timid girl. Besides 
these there were only two present, John Wilson 
and Peter Flynn, men living in the immediate 
neighborhood ; well-meaning souls , but awk- 
ward and clumsy. 

But there was no time in which to find a com- 
petent person who could assist in a non- profes- 
sional way. So, choosing Flynn as his helper, 


8o Through Stress and Storm. 

Dr. Hart flung open his instrument case and 
took from one of its compartments a bottle of 
chloroform, a sponge and an inhaler. 

He saturated the sponge with the chloroform, 
fastened it in the inhaler, stepped quickly and 
noiselessly to the bedside, and, speaking in a 
low, encouraging voice, said to the well-nigh 
frantic sufferer: “Be patient half a minute, old 
fellow, and we’ll stop that pain. I’m going to 
put you to sleep now, so that I can attend to 
your leg and not hurt you. Draw long, deep 
breaths, and you’ll be asleep before you know 
it.” 

He carefully noted the pulsations of his pa- 
tient’s heart from time to time, until the anes- 
thesia was complete. Then he turned to Flynn 
and said : “ Take hold of this inhaler and keep 
it exactly where it is now. Don’t let the mask 
slip, or you’ll have trouble.” 


Evelyn’s Note. 8i 

Then stepping to his instrument case Dr. 
Hart brought out an amputating knife, a saw, 
a scalpel, and a tourniquet. He then hastily 
made the necessary preparations for the opera- 
tion, applied the tourniquet and tightened it 
sufficiently. Then, grasping the leg with his 
left hand, he drew the flesh up from the point 
at which he designed to make the incision, took 
the amputating knife in his right hand, and 
with a quick, deft movement thrust it through 
the leg on the under side, just missing the 
femur. With another dextrous stroke down- 
ward, at an angle of about forty-five degrees, 
he brought the knife entirely through the flesh, 
leaving a clean cut from the bone to the surface, 
completing the first movement of the operation. 
But at this important juncture, FJynn — who 
had been carefully watching the surgeon’s 
movements instead of attending to his '^own 


82 Through Stress and Storm. 

part of the work — gave a half-cry, half -gasp, 
fainted away and fell heavily to the floor, car- 
rying with him in his fall the inhaler which he 
had been holding to Gregor’s nostrils. 

For an instant Dr. Hart regarded Flynn with 
an expression in which amusement was min- 
gled with contempt. Then turning to Wilson 
he said: “Come here and help me, Wilson! 
This ninny has fainted.” 

“Not for a thousand dollars,” was the an- 
swer. “I want nothing to do with it.” 

“But I only want you to hold the inhaler 
over*Cregor’s face. You can do that, surely.” 

“I don’t think that I could. And if I could, 
I don’t want to be brought into this business in 
any way.” 

“But no harm can come to you, man, in any 
event. And Ben’s life may depend on your 
doing this.” 


The Rescue. 


83 

“I’ll have nothing to do with it — I’ll have 
nothing to do with it,” was the only reply from 
Wilson, as he took himself out of the room and 
out of the house. He was followed by Flynn, 
who had recovered his senses and picked him- 
self up just in time to hear the closing part of 
the colloquy between the doctor and W ilson. 

Dr. Hart picked up the inhaler, replen- 
ished the chloroform in the sponge, held it to 
Gregor’s nostrils for a few seconds, then left it 
on his face and, with outward calmness, walked 
into the next room. The situation was a des- 
perate one. For a moment he felt a strong im- 
pulse to abandon his patient and everything 
else, and fly to some distant country. 

But his former military training and experi- 
ence led him, instinctively, to battle even 
against overwhelming odds. And his courage 
rose as he remembered how on one occasion he 


84 Through Stress and Storm. 

had, alone and unaided, held back a large 
force of the enemy for more than half an hour, 
in order to give his regiment time to form. 
And the same pugnacious feeling he then had 
came to him now as he inwardly vowed that, 
whatever might come, he would fight this bat- 
tle with adverse fortune to the bitter end. And 
his voice was clear and his tones mild and gen- 
tle as he said: “Miss Grace, will you please go 
out and find a man to help me. Ask the first 
one you see to come at once. Those cowardly 
knaves have gone, and I must have assistance 
without delay. Go as quickly as possible.’’ 

The girl started instantly to do as she had 
been ordered rather than asked. But before she 
reached the door she turned and said: “But 
why cannot I help you, doctor?” 

“Are you a brave girl?” was the instant re- 
sponse, the questioner looking intently into the 


The Rescue. 85 

eyes of the delicate girl before him as if he 
would there discern her temper and spirit. Be- 
fore his keen gaze her eyes fell, and her cheek 
flushed as she answered : “I can be brave if it 
is necessary that I should be.” 

“Come with me, then,” he said abruptly. 

On entering the room, which seemed to him 
to be a veritable chamber of horrors, Grover 
Hart instinctively took the hand of Grace Co- 
bum, and led her to the side of the bed where 
lay the subject still in a state of fortunate in- 
sensibility. Dr. Hart gave Grace a few 
necessary directions concerning the manage- 
ment of the inhaler, then turned to his work. 

And there the timid, inexperienced girl stood, 
while the surgeon cut through the flesh on the 
anterior side of the femur, then with the scalpel 
ringed the femur below the wound he had 
made, dissected the periosteum from the bone 


86 Through Stress and Storm. 

for a little space, and sawed through the 
bone. 

Every second of the time required for the 
♦ 

operation seemed to her an age, and every 
stroke of the knife or saw seemed to cut through 
her nerves, and still she kept her post of duty. 
Presently she heard the voice of Dr. Hart say- 
ing to her : ‘ ‘ Is your courage sufficient to en- 
able you to help me still more? I must ligate 
the arteries, and it is hardly possible for me to 
do it alone.” 

‘T can do anything that is required of me,” 
was the quiet answer. And, without a tremor, 
her hand held the forceps while the arteries 
were being ligated. The surgeon closed, dressed 
and bandaged the wound, and then said to his 
fair and delicate, but efficient assistant: “That 
will do; you can go now. You are a noble, 
brave girl; and may the Lord bless you.” 


The Rescue. 87 

She hurried from the Toom, threw herself into 
a chair, closed her eyes and would have fainted, 
had not her pride and her will triumphed over 
the weakness resulting from the nervous strain 
she had undergone. 

And during all the rest of the afternoon, 
through the night, and until nearly noon of the 
following day. Dr. Hart remained at the 
bedside of his patient, fighting what appeared 
to be, for the first hour or so, a losing battle 
with death. Then for hour after hour the issue 
seemed wholly uncertain. 

But toward noon of the day following the 
operation, the indications became so much more 
favorable that the doctor felt that it would be 
safe for him to leave his patient in the care of 
a trained nurse, who had been sent for and had 
arrived early in the morning. Grover Hart had 
driven but a short distance from Gregor’s house, 


88 Through Stress and Storm. 

when he saw Grace Coburn walking by the 
side of the highway in the same direction that 
he was going. For the first time in his life he 
observed her fine figure and graceful carriage. 
And he was impressed by the fact that while 
she was not a beauty, nor even what would be 
termed pretty, she was possessed of such per- 
sonal attractions that she was always spoken of 
by her rustic neighbors as “a right handsome 
girl- 

He had known her, in a general way, from 
her girhood. When he was a boy of twelve 
years, and was accustomed to attend the spell- 
ing schools so common in those days, she was 
the champion of the country school which she 
attended, as he was of the school in the district 
where he lived. Many a contest he and she 
had engaged in to decide which of the two 
could “spell down” the other. 


The Rescue. 89 

Later she had attended a seminary for young 
ladies for a few terms. She had thus become 
qualified to teach in the high school of a small 
town about ten miles away, and was now spend- 
ing the vacation at home. 

When she was only seventeen years of age, 
she had had what the neighbors termed “a love 
affair. ’ * A young man, with a pleasing address 
but devoid of a conscience, had, during a stay 
of a few weeks in the neighborhood, amused 
himself by making love to her, winning her 
love, and then breaking bis engagement on the 
eve of his return to his home in the city. 

Since then she had refused several offers of 
marriage from worthy young men, and was 
generally looked upon as one who had fully de- 
termined never to marry. 

All this ran hastily through the mind of 
Grover Hart, ere he overtook Grace Coburn and 


90 Through Stress and Storm. 

extended to her a cordial invitation to ride with 
him, which she as cordially accepted. Resum- 
ing the journey he asked her: “Have you just 
left Gregor’s?’’ 

“Oh, no,” was the reply. “I left there early 
this morning; just as soon as the nurse ar- 
rived. I have been at home for several hours.” 

“How far do you go, may I ask?” 

“I was on my way to the post office when you 
overtook me.” 

“To the post office! You don’t mean to tell 
me that you were intending to walk four miles 
and back to-day!” 

She laughed quietly. 

“Is it possible Dr. Hart, that you do not 
know that, when teaching, I often walk 
to my home, a distance of more than 
ten miles, after school closes on Friday 
afternoon, and walk to school again on Mon- 


Evelyn’s Note. 91 

day morning? A walk of eight miles is noth- 
ing for me, I assure you.” 

“Indeed, I did not know it. That explains 
the fact that you have such splendid control 
over your nerves. Heavens and earth ! I never 
noticed that before. ’’ 

Grace Coburn looked up in utter surprise at 
this irrelevant exclamation, and saw that the 
eyes of her companion were blazing with ex- 
citement and fixed on something in the distance 
instead of upon her face. 

“What is it?” she cried, greatly agitated by 
his strange demeanor. 

“It is the battlefield of Spottsylvania Court 
House!” he replied enthusiastically. “I never 
before in all my life saw a landscape so closely 
resembling another as this resembles the ground 
where our division fought, three years ago last 
month. Do you see that belt of woods yonder? 


92 Through Stress and Storm. 

There were the earthworks of the enemy, 
crowded with men and bristling with cannon ! 
I can almost see the red clay just thrown up by 
the spade, showing through the trees, as I saw 
it on the morning of May 12, 1864. Through 
that cornfield in the distance the brigade on 
our right moved. Right at the farther edge of 
that field in front of us, the men of our brigade 
halted and lay down, as we were commanded to 
do. There we remained for what seemed to us 
a long time, waiting for the order to charge on 
the works in our front. You can see how near 
to the enemy’s line we were, and how close the 
range was for musketry as well as artillery. 

“And there we lay in the midst of a thunder- 
storm which at any other time would have been 
terrific; the rain falling in torrents and turning 
the ground on which we were lying to soft 
mud; lightning flashing, thunder pealing; 


Evelyn’s Note. 93 

every cannon and every musket in the enemy’s 
line hurling missiles of death and destruction 
upon us. God of heaven! How the cannon 
flamed and crashed and roared I How the shells 
chattered and shrieked and howled ! How the 
grapeshot hissed and the minie bullets wailed ! 
It was as if the door of the bottomless pit had 
been thrown wide open and lost souls were es- 
caping, pursued by demons. 

“And all about us were blood, wounds, agony 
and death ; silent, colorless faces upturned to 
the weeping skies, as if the voiceless lips and 
sightless eyes were asking the pitying heavens 
the reason why this should be ; slender boys of 
tender years moaning and writhing in mortal 
agony ; the earth soaked with blood as well as 
with rain; dismembered remains of human 
forms ” 

He stopped abruptly as he felt a shudder agi- 


94 Through Stress and Storm. 

tate the form of the gentle girl by his side; 
and he realized that he was talking to a delicate 
woman, and not to his comrades of the war. 

Looking again at the face of Grace Coburn — 
for all this time the eyes of Grover Hart had 
been fixed on the reproduction of the field of 
blood he had been describing — he saw in her 
eyes an expression like that which must have 
kindled in the eyes of Desdemona while Othello 
was telling her of ‘‘the battles, sieges, fortunes,” 
which formed a part of the story of his life. 

‘'Were you not terribly afraid?” Grace asked 
after a moment of silence. 

“Afraid? I really cannot say that I was. 
The time was too awful to allow one to indulge 
the feeling of fear. And right in the midst of 
that terrible storm of death, a bird — a little 
song-sparrow — bewildered and paralyzed by 
the horrible din, fell to the ground at my side. 


Evelyn’s Note. 95 

At first I thought that it was dead. But I picked 
it up and saw that it was unhurt. And in a 
moment it came to itself, and crept inside my 
blouse and nestled close to my heart. And then 
I knew that God had sent that sparrow to me, 
to tell me that He watched over it when it fell, 
and that He would take care of me. No, I don’t 
believe that any of us were afraid. We were 
lifted out of ourselves by the appalling charac- 
ter of the scene through which we were passing. 

‘‘And I can remember that I kept saying to 
myself over and over again, and feeling the ap- 
propriateness of the words more and more with 
each repetition : 

“‘Fear? A forgotten form. 

Death? A dream of the eyes. 

We were atoms in God’s great storm 
That roared through the angry skies. ^ 


“Of course, I cannot speak with positiveness 


96 Through Stress and Storm. 

as to how others felt. But I judged their feel- 
ings partly by my own, in part from their de- 
meanor and conduct. One example I shall 
never forget. The officer in command of the 
company next to mine on the left was Captain 
Mason, a noble young man, who left the uni- 
versity at the end of his junior year to go, with 
several of his classmates, to the war. 

“In the midst of the terrible carnage I have 
been describing, I saw Captain Mason raise 
himself nearly upright, then fall upon his 
knees, cover his face with his hands, and burst 
into a torrent of weeping, crying out, ‘Oh, my 
poor boys! Oh, my poor boys!’ referring to 
those in his company who had just been killed 
or wounded. 

“Almost immediately the order came to 
charge the earthworks in front of us. And then 
it was wonderful to see the transformation in 


Evelyn’s Note. 97 

the appearance of Captain Mason. As he re- 
peated the commands that the colonel gave, his 
voice rang like a bugle, his eyes blazed, and as 
he strode forward with his company his mien 
was fairly majestic. 

“I was next to the color-guard on the left of 
our company, and Captain Mason kept near the 
right of the company under his command. Our 
colors went down no less than three times as we 
moved forward through that fire of hell; and 
every time they fell it was Captain Mason who 
snatched the standard from the hand of the 
dead or dying color-bearer and gave it into the 
hands of another of the guard. 

“A little more than halfway up the slope 
Captain Mason fell dead, with a smile on his 
lip and a tear on his cheek; the smile for him- 
self, the tear one of sympathy for his fallen 
comrades. You may think that his weeping 


98 Through Stress and Storm. 

was a sign of weakness; but I think that it was 
an evidence of genuine manliness. The most 
manly being that ever lived was Jesus of Naz- 
areth; and He wept scalding tears when He 
stood at the tomb of His friend. And I tell you 
that there are times when the most manly thing 
a man can do is to sit down and cry like a 


The Doctor’s Reply. 


99 


V. 

The Doctor's Reply. 

To a heart burdened with anxiety, “the cares 
that infest the day’^ are as nothing when com- 
pared with those that oppress the night. 
Through all the sleepless hours of the night 
which Dr. Hart devoted to the care of Ben 
Cregor, his thoughts were wholly given to the 
welfare of his patient. The reaction from the 
nervous tension under which he then worked, 
ought to have made restful slumber on the next 
night a matter of course. 

But in reality the latter night was to him 
filled with greater disquiet than the former had 
been. Try as he might, he could not rid his 
mind of the thought that Evelyn Atherly had 
gone away ; that she had gone without seeing 


LofC. 


lOO Through Stress and Storm. 

him, or saying one word to him or hearing one 
word from his lips; that with her going the 
light had gone from the day, the stars from the 
night. 

He had avoided meeting her when the oppor- 
tunity was thrust upon him. But as soon as he 
had leisure for the thought that the opportunity 
could never be repeated, a feeling of loneliness, 
regret, and indefinable longing took possession 
of him, banishing sleep, and filling the night 
with dark visions of despair. So strong was 
this feeling that at times he found it diflBcult to 
restrain himself from arising from his bed and 
preparing to take an early morning train for 
Philadelphia. 

But with the coming of the morning light, 
much of the gloom which had filled his mind 
was dispelled. And after calmly considering 
first, what could be done, and next what ought 


The Doctor’s Reply. loi 

to be done, to make amends for his ungracious 
conduct toward Miss Atherly, he wrote to her 
this letter : 

“Z , June 19th. 

“Dear Miss Atherly: An apology is due 
to you for the tone and tenor of my note of the 
17th instant. I do not need to say that what 
I wrote you concerning a professional engage- 
ment was literally true. Just before writing 
the note, I received an urgent summons to visit 
a patient who had met with an accident so seri- 
ous as to require immediate attention. I may 
add that had I not obeyed the summons with- 
out delay, the patient would not now be living. 

“But the fact of which I told you in my note 
— and which I have again stated in this — was, 
as employed by me, one of those literal truths 
which are sometimes made to do service as vir- 
tual falsehoods. And while the task is harder 
than you can imagine, it is no more than your 
due that I should tell you the whole truth in 


102 Through Stress and Storm. 

regard to my nonacceptance of your invitation 
to call on you at Mr. Callender’s. 

“Before I saw you I had heard you spoken 
of, though not by name, by one with whom you 
have no acquaintance, but who — without in- 
tending to gossip — gave me a fairly good de- 
scription of you. It needed no more than this 
and the brief moments during which I afterward 
saw you, to reveal to me that to be well born, 
wealthy, learned, refined, are with you matters 
of course. To me these gifts are aliens and 
strangers. 

‘T was born in poverty so deep and hopeless 
that I do not like even to think of it. My edu- 
cation — aside from that which is purely profes- 
sional — has been such as I have been able to 
acquire, without instructors, during the infre- 
quent intervals between hours of daily toil for 
daily bread. My associates have been those who 
were in circumstances like my own. My 
mother was a woman possessing that innate 


The Doctor’s Reply. 103 

delicacy of feeling, unselfishness, and kindness 
of heart which are the essence of refinement. 
But she died when I was so young that little 
memory of her remains to me. 

“Add to what I have written that three years 
which would have been of incalculable value to 
me, could I have used them for myself, were 
devoted to the service of my country in the late 
war, and the whole of the story of my life is 
told. 

“I do not mention my hopes and ambitions, 
my struggles against my environment — strug- 
gles which are like the beating of the wings of 
a bird against the bars of his cage — because 
these have no value in this explanation, except 
as they emphasize the difference between what 
I would like to be and what I am. 

“From what I have written you may be able 
to apprehend — to some extent at least — what 
my feelings were on receiving your most gra- 
cious invitation to call on you. I felt as an 


104 Through Stress and Storm. 


English collier might be supposed to feel were 
he to receive a command to dine with Queen 
Victoria. 

“It is not necessary that I should tell you 
that my gratitude for the invitation was as un- 
bounded as was your kindness in sending it. 
But I could not help fearing that were I to see 
you, though it should he for only a few minutes, 
your impressions of me would not be such as I 
could wish. And I wanted more than all else, 
that if you should ever think of me, your 
thoughts should be pleasant ones. And so (and 
this is the most humiliating part of my confes- 
sion) I was not wholly sorry that I had to send 
my regrets. 

“Having now made a full confession of all the 
secret offenses of my thoughts against you, may 
I ask that you will pardon me for writing a few 
words more? The expression of your gratitude 
for my act in taking you from the water, was 
very pleasant to mo. But in truth you have no 


The Doctor’s Reply. 


105 


reason to be at all grateful to me. I should be 
sorry indeed were you to think me capable of 
doing otherwise than as I did. It was no more 
than an act of common humanity, which would 
have been performed as readily had your 
friend, or even your servant, been exposed to 
the danger which menaced you. In fact, I had 
no idea who you were until after everything 
had been done which was done by me in your 
behalf; and your name was not disclosed to me 
until I read it at the end of your note. 

“But lam more glad than I can tell you that 
you were brought safely through the accident 
which befell you. And I am glad also that God 
permitted me to be the instrument by which 
He delivered you from peril. 

“You have no doubt forgotten the fact that 
during the last year of the war you sent a book 
to the soldiers at the front. It fell into my 
hands. I have it yet and count it one of my 
chief treasures. 


io6 Through Stress and Storm. 

“And ever since I first read your name in- 
scribed in that little volume, I have not only 
hoped but believed that I should at some time 
meet you, and that our meeting would be of 
grave import to me. This belief was not the 
result of any course of reasoning on my part, 
but came to me intuitively. But as I had no 
way of learning anything concerning you — ex- 
cept your name — until within the past three 
days, I could no more foresee the time of our 
meeting than I could foresee the strange cir- 
cumstances under which we met. 

“I have thus ventured to tell you of that 
which has been the chief of the hopes which 1 
have indulged for more than three years past. 
And I am sure that you will forgive me if I re- 
veal to you the truth that the realization of my 
hope of seeing you has given me more happi- 
ness than had ever before come to me in my 
humble and uneventful life. 

“It may be that I shall never look upon your 


107 


The Doctor’s Reply. 

face again, nor hear your name spoken, nor 
know aught of your life from this time until 
the day of my death. But while I live the 
memory of your peerless beauty and of your 
unexampled kindness to me will be to me a 
never-failing source of happiness, as well as an 
inspiration to live a higher, nobler, better life. 

“And though you should not care to bear 
from me or concerning me, you will sometimes 
think of me, not unkindly* And I am sure 
that at such times you will be glad to know 
that wherever I may be, or whatever may be 
my lot, the , remembrance of the time when I 
was permitted to look upon your face and to be 
of service to you, is inspiring me to do my very 
best for my God, for my fellow-men and for 
myself. Respectfully yours, 

“Grover Hart.'’ 

The writing of this letter seemed to Grover 
Hart in some way to relieve his conscience as 


io8 Through Stress and Storm. 

well as his feelings. And so it was with a 
heart much less burdened with regret and 
anxiety that he set out for the home of Ben 
Cregor. 

Somewhat to his surprise, and to his great 
joy, he found that his patient had been making 
decided progress in the right direction ever since 
he had last seen him. He found also that Cregor 
had gained so much in strength that he was 
able to receive a pastoral visit from the Rev. 
Ahira Lett, a clergyman residing in the village, 
one of those devout, earnest, simple souls, 
whose lives are a continual benediction to all 
with whom they come in contact. 

After greeting the patient and his visitor, the 
doctor went through the indispensable ceremony 
of feeling the pulse, taking the temperature and 
looking at the tongue of the former. He then 
very naturally indulged in hearty congratula- 


The Doctor’s Reply. 109 

tions on the successful outcome of the operation. 
These congratulations, though addressed to 
Gregor, were really an expression of the joy felt 
by Dr. Hart because of his own success, as well 
as on account of the assured recovery of the 
patient. 

‘ ‘ I suppose that’s true, doctor, ” was the some- 
what gloomy reply ; “ I don’t doubt that I ought 
to be thankful that I’m alive. But it’s pretty 
hard for a poor man like me to lose a leg when 
he has nothing but his work to depend on for a 
living, and when he has a family looking to 
him for their support.” 

“It is sad,” interposed the clergyman sym- 
pathetically. “But it might have been very 
much worse. That you are now doing so well, 
after being so near death, is — as the doctor tells 
you — something that ought to make you feel 
glad. And I want to say that it ought to lead you 


I lo Through Stress and Storm. 

to feel grateful also. God has not cast this 
trouble upon you merely to give you pain and 
sorrow. But He has sent it either for your 
own good or for the good of others. So I 
hope you won’t repine because of your afflic- 
tion, although neither you, nor I, nor any one 
can tell why it came.” 

“No doubt you are right. Parson Lett; no 
doubt you are right,” was the meek reply. 
“But as I can’t understand why it should be, it 
seems to me very hard. And to-day, while ly- 
ing here, I’ve been thinking that I ought to 
have minded a warning I had a few days ago. 
I saw the new moon over my left shoulder; and 
that is always to me a sign of bad luck. Some- 
times it has been sickness, sometimes loss of 
property ; but something bad is sure to happen 
after that sign.” 

“I hope that you’ll not let your belief in signs 


The Doctor’s Reply. iii 

run away with your good sense, Gregor,’^ the 
clergyman replied. “Believe me, there is no 
reality in signs or omens such as you have 
mentioned. The doctor here knows all about 
astronomy. He could answer any question you 
might ask about the sun, moon or stars. And 
he will tell you that seeing the new moon over 
your left shoulder had nothing to do with your 
being hurt. Won’t you, doctor?” 

“I can say with truth that seeing the new 
moon over his left shoulder was not a sign that 
he would meet with misfortune. That it had 
no influence in occasioning the accident which 
happened to him is more than I dare assert. I 
do not know but that when Gregor was helping 
lift the rail from the hand-car, he saw that it 
was about to fly back and might injure him. 
At the same instant he may have thought of 
the ominous sign of disaster seen by him a few 


1 12 Through Stress and Storm. 

clays before. And this thought may have so 
occupied his mind that he failed to do that 
which he otherwise would have done for his 
own safety. His belief in the fulfillment of 
that which was to him a prophecy may have 
brought about the evil which he dimly feared.” 

“Then your view is that our superstitions 
may affect our lives in an indirect or accidental 
way, but not otherwise,” said the minister. 

“I could not give an affirmative answer to 
your question without qualifying it some- 
what,” was Hart’s reply. “Our superstitions 
— as you term them — are usually indicative of 
the mental and moral qualities of those who 
harbor them. Those who believe in signs and 
omens generally — not always — belong to that 
class of people who attribute their good or ill 
fortune to heredity, or environment, or some- 
thing of that sort. Now the more I examine the 


The Doctor’s Reply. 113 

subject, the more I am convinced that our lives, 
achievements and destiny depend more on our 
faith in God and in ourselves than on heredity, 
environment, or all other agencies acting singly 
or in combination. 

“Jesus said — as you remember — ‘If ye have 
faith and doubt not ... if ye shall say unto 
this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou 
cast into the sea; it shall be done.’ Now I 
have no right to assume that His words are to 
be understood in any other than their literal 
sense. He certainly meant that God has given 
to man a power which, through absolute, un- 
limited faith in God and in himself, will enable 
him so to command the material forces of this 
world that they will do for him whatsoever he 
wills. 

“And we do not need to go to the Bible for il- 
lustrations of the truth that the man who has 


1 14 Through Stress and Storm. 

unbounded faith in God and in himself, can do 
greater works than the removing of a mountain 
and casting it into the sea. And it is not hard 
for me to believe that one’s faith in the hap- 
pening of a future event, either favorable or dis- 
astrous, might bring the event to pass.” 

“Do you mean to be understood, doctor, as 
asserting that the common superstitions about 
seeing the new moon over the left shoulder, 
failing to pick up a pin, and the like, have any 
scientific reason for their existence; or that be- 
lief in signs, either in the heavens or on the 
earth, could so influence one’s mind or conduct 
as to change the course of one’s life?” 

“I can hardly answer your question directly, 
because it includes elements which, to my mind, 
are not similar. The superstitions you name 
have no rational basis, so far as my knowledge 
goes. But as regards belief in signs and omens. 


The Doctor’s Reply. 115 

more than one important battle has been lost or 
won because of the appearance of a comet, or the 
happening of an eclipse or an earthquake. You 
remember the sign which Constantine saw — or 
thought that he saw — and how it changed the 
course of the religious history of the world. 
Napoleon believed in his star of destiny, and 
won his empire through such belief. All these 
things were very unscientific, but they were, 
nevertheless, important factors in the making of 
history. 

“And I am not ready to condemn as untrue 
everything which scientists declare to be unsci- 
entific. And this is because I have learned 
enough to know how little is certainly known in 
the world of science. Science is only a name for 
that which is known, and cannot properly be 
made to include either inference or conjecture. 

“Now, so far as the facts are concerned, the 


ii6 Through Stress and Storm. 

statements of one versed in any science may 
generally be accepted as correct. But his infer- 
ences or deductions are of little, if any, greater 
value than the inferences which any intelligent, 
educated man may draw from the facts. And 
yet I often see in the works of men who are 
eminent in some department of science, an as- 
semblage of facts, inferences, conjectures and 
illogical deductions, all of which pass among 
learned as well as unlearned people as the teach- 
ings of science. 

*‘As an illustration of the paucity of our 
knowledge of some of the problems of science, 
take the sunlight; a fact in nature as evident 
and as common as the air we breathe. The 
veriest hind knows that the rays of the sun are 
to this earth the source of light, heat and power. 
Beyond this what can the physicist tell us of 
the sun’s ray? Has he measured it or weighed 


The Doctor’s Reply. 117 

it? Can he explain the process by which it is 
evolved from the materials which compose the 
sun? Dare he assert that it is, unquestionably, 
the result of combustion and not the product of 
electrical energy? What is electricity? What 
is the distinction between heat, light and elec- 
tricity? His ignorance in regard to all these 
matters would fill a much greater number of 
volumes than the sum of his knowledge. 

“You referred — in terms of quite too high 
praise — to my studies in astronomy. It is true 
that I have given no little attention to that sci- 
ence. And I have not only availed myself of 
the wisdom of modern astronomers, but I have 
also studied the stars as the ancients studied 
them : by watching them in their several ways 
through the heavens, by carefully observing 
their light and color and the rhythm of their 
movements. And I have sought, by means of 


ii8 Through Stress and Storm. 

eye, and mind, and heart, to penetrate the mys- 
teries of their being. I have studied them with 
my soul as well as with my eyes. And I say to 
you that I dare not affirm that no one of the 
worlds in space has power to influence other 
worlds, save the power of gravitation.” 

“Am I to understand, doctor,” asked the 
clergyman, “that you profess to be an agnostic, 
as regards the teachings of science, but that you 
do believe in astrology?” 

“No, I do not believe in the astrology of the 
ancients. Nor does my belief in influences which 
may proceed from the stars, go much farther 
than the propounding of queries. Since this 
little world on which we live is inhabited by 
beings possessing spiritual power sufficient to 
control material forces, and to influence the 
lives and destinies of each other, may it not be 
that there are beings inhabiting other worlds. 


The Doctor’s Reply. 119 

who have spiritual power sufficient to influence 
our lives and destinies? 

“And I must confess to you that no clear an- 
swer to this question has ever come to me. In 
the Bible there are some very signiflcant ex- 
pressions on that subject. In the book of Job, 
what is the meaning of the question, ‘Canst 
thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or 
loose the bands of Orion?’ The explanation 
so generally given that it refers to the coming 
of spring, is decidedly weak. Again, what is 
meant by the statement, ‘They fought from the 
heavens; the stars in their courses fought 
against Sisera.’ To say that these words refer 
to a storm of rain, with lightning and thunder, 
not only gives a forced and unnatural construc- 
tion to the language, but also substitutes the 
commonplace for that which was evidently 
highly wonderful. 


120 Through Stress and Storm. 

“I do not doubt that my questionings on this 
subject have been, in a great measure, the re- 
sult of an experience I had a few years ago. It 
was during the closing days of the war, after 
the surrender of Lee and before the surrender of 
Johnston. 

‘T was sent out from our camp into the coun- 
try several miles in search of forage. Return- 
ing, I lost my way and was compelled to re- 
main in a dense forest all night. With a little 
grain which I had brought, I fed the horse I 
had been riding, tethered him securely, un- 
rolled the single blanket which I happened to 
have with me, lay down, and very soon was 
asleep. The moon was at the full, the night 
clear and warm. You, Elder Lett, will readily 
recall the experience of Eliphaz the Temanite, 
as told by himself to Job. My experience was 
somewhat similar to that of Eliphaz. Unlike 


The Doctor’s Reply. 12 1 

him, I did not fear, nor tremble, nor did my 
hair stand on end. But I was overcome by a 
feeling of most profound awe. I was not asleep; 
nor did I awake or unclose my eyes. But I was 
conscious of my surroundings — the forest all 
about me, the moonbeams falling through the 
boughs, the night breeze gently stirring the 
leaves. All these things I realized as perfectly 
as I could if I had been awake. ‘Then a spirit 
passed before my face,’ and I was certain of its 
presence, although I could not see it, for in 
truth there was nothing to see. ‘It stood still 
but I could not discern the form thereof,’ for the 
very good reason that it had no form. ‘I heard 
a silent voice’ as plainly as I could hear your 
voice were you now to speak ; but as the mes- 
senger had no organs of speech there was no 
audible sound. I did not hear the voice with 
my ears, but with my soul. And the message 


122 Through Stress and Storm. 

was not in words, but was conveyed by means 
of spiritual impressions. But I know, with 
positive and certain knowledge, that it said to 
me, ‘Follow the impulses by which the Star of 
Love may lead you; but beware of the malign 
leading of Sirius. ’ 

“The messenger departed; I awoke. And 
no amount of argument could ever convince me 
that what I have related was only a dream. I 
know that it was not a dream. Of course the 
impression which I have translated by the 
words ‘Star of Love,’ meant the planet Venus. 
And, however ridiculous the idea may seem to 
you, I have never since that night been able to 
free myself from the thought — which is more 
than an impression, though less, perhaps, than 
a conviction — that in the planet Venus there 
dwells a gentle spirit that seeks to lead me in 
happy ways; while in Sirius there lives an evil 


The Doctor’s Reply. 123 

spirit that would do me ill. And I never look at 
Venus but that its clear, mellow rays bring to 
my soul a feeling of joy and peace; but when- 
ever I see Sirius its scintillations of white and 
blue are to me like the flashing of the eye of a 
demon!’’ 


124 Through Stress and Storm. 


VI. 

Evelyn^s Response. 

When Grover Hart mailed the letter which 
he had written to Evelyn Atherly, he had no 
thought that she would reply to it in any way. 
But after a few days he began to query whether 
she might not write a few words to him. The 
more he thought of itj the more it seemed to be 
at least possible that she would acknowledge 
the receipt of his letter, and tell him that she 
forgave his discourtesy to her. 

The hope that she would do so led him to 
hurry to the post oflSce whenever the mail from 
the East arrived, and wait anxiously during 
the time that it was being distributed. This 
he continued to do for about two weeks. At 
the end of that time, on a day that was there- 


Evelyn’s Response. 125 

after a memorable one to Grover Hart, the post- 
master handed him a letter, the envelope of 
which bore the monogram of Evelyn Atherly. 
The sight of the monogram set the heart of 
Grover Hart to beating wildly, and caused him 
to walk rapidly to his office, open the letter at 
once and eagerly read the contents, which were 
as follows : 

“No. 78 Tenth Avenue, 
“Philadelphia, June 30, 18 — . 

“Dear Dr. Hart: I cannot tell you how 
highly I appreciate the candor and frankness 
displayed in your letter to me. And I’m going 
to be equally candid and frank with you; both 
because it is my nature to be so, and because 
you deserve my confidence in return for yours. 

“My feelings were hurt not a little by your 
cold and formal note declining my invitation to 
call on my uncle, aunt and cousin, as well as 
myself. It was a hard blow to my pride, be- 


126 Through Stress and Storm. 

sides being what seemed to me a cruel repres- 
sion of my feelings of gratitude toward you. I 
deserved to have my pride humbled, because I 
foolishly allowed myself to think that you 
would be glad and proud on account of having 
saved my life. And I was picturing to myself 
how we would all overwhelm you with our ex- 
pressions of appreciation and gratitude. 

“I did not once stop to consider the fact that 
I am not so important a personage in the esti- 
mation of others as I am in my . own conceit. 
Nor did it once occur to me that what you had 
done in my behalf was an act of humanity, 
prompted by your own nobility of soul, and not 
at all because the one saved by your heroism 
chanced to be Evelyn Atherly. 

“And I want to say to you — now that I am 
writing on that subject — that I can never agree 
with you in your estimate of the moral quality 
of your heroic deed. It is true that you would 
have done the same for any one ; but that fact 


127 


Evelyn’s Response. 

does not diminish by one particle the brav- 
ery shown by you. And I shall always be as 
grateful to you as I could be if you had known 
me all your life, and had rescued me from 
death for my own sake, and not wholly because 
of your own noble impulses. 

“And now I want to make a confession to 
you, which I fear will lead you to think that I 
was not worth saving, but ought to have been 
left to drown as being too stupid to be suffered 
to live. 

“I remember as well as if it had occurred yes- 
terday, the sending of the box to the soldiers, 
and my using all the money I had in buying a 
little book which I put in the box, thinking that 
some soldier would value it more than even 
good food or warm clothing. 

“I was then a schoolgirl, only fifteen years 
old, and had never received a letter except from 
near relatives. So you can imagine how proud 
and happy I was when your letter came, telling 


128 Through Stress and Storm. 

me that the book had been given to you, and 
how much you enjoyed reading it. My aunt, 
too, liked your letter almost as much as I did. 
She thought that you must be very sensible as 
well as manly to discern, as you did, the fact 
that the book was the gift of a young girl; and 
she thought also — as I did — that your writing 
to me was a kind and thoughtful act. 

“I have your letter still and have read it 
many times; and yet when Mrs. Callender told 
me that my rescuer was Dr. Hart, and after- 
ward spoke of your having been in the army, 
neither your name nor the fact of your military 
service led me to think that you might be the 
Grover Hart whose name was so well known 
to me. Did you ever before in all your life hear 
of such stupidity? 

“But I have an excuse to offer which ought 
to mitigate — to some extent at least — the sever- 
ity of your condemnation of me. In writing to 
me from the army you did not tell me your age, 


Evelyn’s Response. 129 

and I inferred from the tone and tenor of your 
letter that you were thirty years old or more ; 
and so I have always pictured you in my mind 
as a bearded veteran, and not as the smooth- 
faced boy you must have been then. And when 
my eyes first rested on you, how could I recog- 
nize in your pale, young face and slender form 
the bronzed visage and stalwart frame of the 
imaginary being to whom I had give your 
name? 

“There was one matter referred to in your 
recent letter concerning which I wish to correct 
your impressions, however they may have been 
obtained. You wrote concerning me as if I 
were possessed of wealth and had a high social 
position in the city where I live. This conjecture 
is so far from being true that I might almost 
say that it is the reverse of true. 

“I was left an orphan when a mere infant, 
so that the words ‘father’ and ‘mother’ are to 
me only the hallowed names by which I know 


130 Through Stress and Storm. 

the noble man and lovely woman to whom I 
owe mj^ existence, but of whom I have not the 
faintest remembrance. During all my life I 
have had a home with my uncle and aunt, and 
neither of them has ever given more care, or 
love, or sympathy to their own children than 
each of them has shown for me. So that my 
life has been the same, in all respects, that it 
would have been had I been their own child. 

“But* uncle is not rich, although we have a 
home which is as beautiful and pleasant as it 
could be made were he worth millions. 

“And I am wholly candid in telling you 
that I am glad that my circumstances forbid 
my entrance into what is called ‘society.’ My 
uncle, my aunt and my cousins love me, and I 
love them ; and I love the home which is to all 
intents mine as well as theirs. I am contented 
and happy, and have no lack of friends among 
my schoolmates, so that I have no social wants 
to be supplied. 


Evelyn’s Response. 13 1 

“My chief desire is to show myself worthy 
of a small part of the care and love which uncle 
and aunt have given me during all the years 
of my life. And then I confess to a liking for 
scholarly pursuits, for the knowledge which I 
am obliged to obtain from books and teachers, 
while you are acquiring it in a much more 
pleasant way — from thought and observation. 

“But this gossip about myself is in very 
bad taste, to say the least, and ought not to be 
tolerated by you for an instant. 

“I am sure that I need not tell you that I 
shall be happy to hear from you whenever you 
may choose to write to me. 

“Sincerely your friend. 


“Evelyn Atherly.” 


132 Through Stress and Storm. 


VII. 

Playing With Fire. 

“There are no words in human speech more 
universally misapprehended by those who hear 
and use them, than the words ‘new’ and ‘old.’ 
Few, indeed, are willing to put forth the mental 
exertion necessary to enable them to study those 
words and learn their true meaning. Many 
ages ago there was a man who did this, and he 
declared the result to the world in the saying, 
‘There is nothing new under the sun.’ 

“Eelatively there are things new, and things 
that are old. Absolutely, nothing is new, 
nothing is old. It has been said that ‘history is 
philosophy teaching by example.’ Were the 
lessons which history teaches ever learned, it 
would cease to be true that ‘history repeats 


Playing^ With Fire. 133 

itself. ’ History repeats itself because man is as 
old as the race, and the things which man did 
thousands of years ago he does to-day, and will 

A 

do to-morrow. History repeats itself because 
man is new, and has had no experience by 
which he can profit. 

“Adam and Eve are still living on this earth, 
and the child that was born into the world yes- 
terday is older than the pyramids. Man neither 
knows nor considers that time is not a segment 
cut out of the great circle of eternity, but is a 
part of all eternity ; that time never had a be- 
ginning nor will it ever have an end; and that 
the thing which has been, is now, and will be 
forever.’’ 

The truth stated in the foregoing extract from 
a letter written by Grover Hart to Evelyn 
Atherly accounts for the writing of the letter 
from which the words quoted are taken. In 


134 Through Stress and Storm. 

entering upon and continuing a friendly corre- 
spondence, this young man and young woman, 
separated by many miles of space, and by im- 
passable social barriers as well, and yet culti- 
vating congenial thoughts, tastes and feelings, 
were but entering the way which has been trav- 
ersed by the youth of every generation since the 
world began. But to Grover Hart and Evelyn 
Atherly it was as though this way had been 
prepared for them, and for them alone, from 
the foundation of the world. 

Experience would have warned them of their 
danger, and would have counseled that the let- 
ter of June 30th end the correspondence. But 
experience was abiding with those to whom 
she could be of no possible assistance. If the 
truths which are taught by experience could be 
imparted beforehand — like the alphabet to a be- 
ginner — the teachings of experience would be 


Playing With Fire. 135 

p 

of priceless value to those whom she instructs. 
But the sad fact is that in life’s great university 
an error committed at the first examination can 
never be corrected in this life. In such case 
all that experience can do for those who go to 
her for wisdom, is to tell them that they have 
failed ; a fact of which they are already too well 
aware. 

And so Grover Hart and Evelyn Atherly, 
like the simple-hearted creatures that they 
were, continued to write to each other with the 
perfect frankness which is possible only be- 
tween a man and a woman who have each a high 
appreciation of the other and are yet heart- 
whole, and each without a thought of love for 
the other. 

He wrote to her of the things which inter- 
ested him most; of the delight which he felt in 
the study of the visible phenomena of nature; 


136 Through Stress and Storm. 

of his observations of the flowers, the trees, the 
birds, the stars ; of his thoughts, conclusions and 
beliefs concerning the problems presented for 
solution in the school of active life in which he 
was little more than a beginner; of himself, 
his profession, his hopes, ambitions and aspira- 
tions. In short, he revealed to her all that was 
in his mind and heart. 

And she, on her part, was as unreserved in 
her confidence, and told him in her letters of 
her school life, her teachers, her studies, her 
love of and progress in music. Every letter, 
whether written by theoneor by the other, drew 
them nearer each other in thought, interest and 
sympathy. 

In none of the letters which passed between 
them was there a hint of love. But from the 
first he looked forward with eager longing to 
the time when a letter from her would be due; 


Playing With Fire. 137 

and she anticipated the coming of his letters 
with anxious expectancy. And when by any 
chance a letter from either one of them to the 
other was delayed for even a day, that day was 
not like other days; and neither he nor she 
dreamed why this was so. 

In one of her letters she quoted to him a half- 
playful, half -serious remark of her uncle in re- 
lation to their correspondence, to the effect that 
she would do well to ‘‘put a stop to that non- 
sense.’* On reading this Grover Hart awoke 
to the fact that the time might soon come when 
be could write no more to Evelyn nor receive 
letters from her. 

This thought filled his mind with terrifying 
apprehensions. Up to that time he had not 
realized how thoroughly the interchange of 
thought, feeling, and sentiment between Evelyn 
and himself had become an essential part of his 


138 Through Stress and Storm. 

life. But now he thought within himself that 
he could more easily comprehend what existence 
would be like were he to lose his sight, hearing 
and reason, than imagine what life would be to 
him were he to be deprived of the light of Eve- 
lyn’s mind, of the soft, sweet voice which spoke 
to his soul in the chaste and beautiful language 
of her letters, of the aspirations which led his 
mind up the most lofty heights of thought 
and feeling because of the inspiring fact that 
she was interested in all that tended to his men- 
tal activity and growth. 

But this condition of affairs could not go on 
forever, nor, indeed, much longer. She was in- 
terested in him — he reflected — just as she 
would be in some waif that she had rescued 
from the degradation of a homeless life in the 
streets. But other and more important matters 
would soon engross her attention. Then he. 


Playing With Fire. 139 

with all that pertained to his life would insen- 
sibly pass out of her mind. She might recall 
him to her memory at infrequent intervals, but 
it would be only to wonder, in a vague and 
curious way, whether he still lived and how he 
fared. 

Discovering that this thought was to him a 
painful one, Grover Hart decided to analyze 
his feelings toward Evelyn Atherly. He would 
determine whether his regard for her was a 
passionless, mental appreciation of the noble 
qualities of her mind, or a heart recognition of 
her beauty, her intellectual worth, the womanly 
kindness and tenderness of her nature. - I 

The result was far from reassuring. And then 
he called to his aid the self-control on which he 
prided himself not a little. He inwardly vowed 
that he would not be so weak or foolish as to in- 
dulge a warmer feeling for Evelyn than mere 
friendshipo ^ 


140 Through Stress and Storm. 

“It would be a most ungrateful return for her 
kindness,” he said to himself, “if I were to fall 
in love with her and thus alienate her forever. 
How disgusted she would be did she know that 
I even dared to think of such a thing. She is as 
far above me as the stars are distant from the 
earth. A Hottentot might with less presump- 
tion fall in love with the empress of France 
than I would have were I to fall in love with 
Evelyn.” 

And so Grover Hart went on writing letters 
to Evelyn Atherly, and receiving letters from 
her, while month after month went by, until a 
year and several months had elapsed since his 
first letter to her. It then became necessary that 
he should go to Philadelphia to look after some 
matters of business. 

Before starting he debated with himself 
whether, while in the city, he should call on 


Playing With Fire. 141 

Evelyn Atherly. She had more than once ex- 
pressed a wish to see him should he visit Phila- 
delphia, and in this he knew that she was sin- 
cere. 

But an important question with him was 
whether it would be wise for him to see her. 
Were he to do so he feared that his peace of 
mind would be gone forever. If he did not call 
on her her feelings would be wounded and she 
might be so deeply offended as to break off all 
communication with him. 

He finally concluded that the only way by 
which he could escape from this dilemma 
would be to conceal from Evelyn the fact of his 
visit to the cit3^ This seemed to him to be a 
cowardly way by which to avoid meeting her, 
but there was no alternative which he dared 
adopt. 

The business which took Grover Hart to 


J42 Through Stress and Storm. 

Philadelphia was soon dispatched. But after 
his business was concluded he found that it 
would be several hours before the leaving time 
of the train on which he was to return home. 
Casting about in his mind for ways in which 
to occupy the time, he remembered that Dr. 
French, one of his former classmates at a medi- 
cal school, had been practicing his profession in 
Philadelphia for a year or more, and was then 
occupying an office but a few blocks away. 

He found his friend just leaving his office to 
make the rounds in a hospital with which he 
was connected as one of the day surgeons. 

“I’m the luckiest dog alive, old man,” said 
French, after the first warm greetings and in- 
quiries were over. 

“I’m lucky to see you and have a chance to 
talk with you. And I’m lucky also to have 
you call just when I can entertain you better 


Playing With Fire. 143 

than I could at any other time. I’m just start- 
ing for the hospital. Come along with me and 
we’ll talk over old times on the way. And 
when we get there I can show you some of the 
most beautiful cases of fractured bones, fearful 
injuries, and deadly diseases you ever set your 
eyes on! Come on, and we’ll have a better 
time this afternoon than either of us has had 
since we used to almost worry the life out of 
poor old Professor Gray I” 

It was mid-afternoon when they entered the 
hospital. But so interested was Grover Hart 
in Dr. French’s “beautiful cases” that he took 
no note of time until the round was well-nigh 
completed. Then he noticed that the autumn 
afternoon was fast waning and the twilight 
shadows beginning to fall. 

“This is the last ward,” said French, as they 
entered one which at first seemed to be unoccu- 


144 Through Stress and Storm. 

pied. “It contains but one patient to-day; a 
woman who was knocked down and run over by 
a drunken wretch driving a carriage. ’ ’ 

On one of the beds in a distant part of the 
room, Dr. Hart saw a young woman, with face 
and arms heavily bandaged. A nurse was 
standing near, and at the side of the bed, with 
her back toward him, a girl was kneeling, 
holding the hand of the injured woman. 

Dr. French walked lightly to the farther side 
of the bed, took one of the patient’s hands in 
his, noted her pulse and respiration, and asked a 
question or two of the nurse. Then he said, 
quietly: “She’s all right now. There are no 
signs of internal injury. She’ll be able to leave 
here in a few days. I’m ready to go now. 
Hart.’’ 

At the mention of that name the kneeling 
girl sprang to her feet, turned about like a flash 


Playing With Fire. 145 

and gazed intently at Grover Hart. And even 
the agitation which seized upon him did not 
prevent him from noting that the look which 
she fixed on his face was first of eager inquiry, 
then of amazement, then of quiet joy. All this 
went through his mind with the rapidity of 
thought as he realized that the girl standing 
before him was Evelyn Atherly! 

Without waiting to ascertain whether he 
was awake or only dreaming a very familiar 
dream, Grover Hart sprang forward, exclaim- 
ing: “Evelyn Atherly! Of all the strange 
things in this strange world, the most wonder- 
.ful is my meeting you here! How do you do? 
You can imagine how glad I am to see you, 
when I tell you that I am a thousand times 
more glad than surprised.” 

“I think that I have reason to be surprised as 
well as you,” she replied. “I certainly never 


146 Through Stress and Storm. 

anticipated meeting you in a hospital — and in 
the dark,” she added, mischievously. 

As if reminded of her dut}^ by this sugges- 
tion, the nurse stepped softly beh ind Dr. Hart 
and lighted the gas. The shade was so ar- 
ranged that the light could not fall on the face 
of the patient, but fell in subdued softness on 
the radiant face of Evelyn Atherly, bringing 
into distinct outline her finely cut, harmonious 
features, and revealing the exquisite, healthful 
clearness of her complexion in a way that any 
woman might envy. 

Utterly unconscious of all this was she, but 
she could not long remain unaware of the fact 
that the eyes of Grover Hart were fixed on her 
face with a look of admiration so intense that 
she involuntarily raised her hand to her face as 
if to shield it from the ardor of his gaze. At 
the same time her color deepened so perceptibly 


Playing With Fire. 147 

that Grover Hart could not help observing it, 
and — guessing the cause — he in turn felt not a 
little embarrassed because of that which he 
feared was a piece of downright rudeness on his 
part. And his embarrassment was in no way 
diminished by his suddenly becoming conscious 
of the fact that for a full half minute he had 
been stupidly staring at Evelyn and had said 
nothing to her following her response to his 
greeting. For this reason his next words to 
her seemed to be spoken with more eagerness 
than the nature of the inquiry would seem to 
require. 

“But how do you happen to he here?” he 
asked. 

“I think that I have more reason to ask that 
question of you,” replied Evelyn. “But as 
you were the first to ask the question, I will an- 
swer it. Poor Mary, here, our housemaid, met 


148 Through Stress and Storm. 

with a frightful accident this morning, and was 
brought here before it was learned who she was. 
As soon as we heard of it I came here, and havo 
been with her all day. I am so glad that the 
surgeon says that she is out of danger.’* 

At this point Dr. French, with a discreetness 
which would have done credit to an older man, 
interposed, saying, “I must go now, Hart. 
Sorry I can’t ask you to go with me, but I’ve 
some patients to visit, and after that must go and 
dine with some friends. Could have secured an 
invitation for you if I had known of your com- 
ing in time. If you should make up your mind 
to stay a day or two more, come and see me at 
two, to-morrow. If not, good-by to you, and 
let me see you whenever you come to the city.” 

Shaking hands with Dr. Hart and bowing 
respectfully to Evelyn Atherly, he left the 
building. In going he took with him — as it 


Playing With Fire. 149 

seemed to Grover Hart — all the wits the latter 
had ever possessed. Try as he might to retain 
his self-possession and carry on the conversation 
with Evelyn, he could not, for his life, think 
of any topic which would be an appropriate one 
for discussion under the circumstances. 

So in sheer desperation, he began to recount 
the objects of interest which he had seen while 
in the city, describing each one as minutely as 
his limited observation would allow. But pres- 
ently an amused expression on the face of his 
fair auditor caused him to remember that he 
was talking to one who had lived in the city all 
her life, and was far better acquainted with the 
things he was describing than he could possibly 
be. This thought so disconcerted him that his 
talk became lame and disconnected to such an 
extent that there was danger that it would end 
abruptly in hopeless confusion. 


150 Through Stress and Storm. 

With ready tact Evelyn came to his relief by 
saying, “But I have been so bewildered by 
meeting you in this strange and unexpected 
way, that I have failed to ask when you came. ” 

“Only this morning?” was his reply. 

“And how long do you stay, may I ask?” 
was her next inquiry. 

“My stay must be very short indeed,” ho 
answered. “I have planned to start for home 
on the evening train.” 

“But you surely were not intending to return 
home without seeing me?” she said, in a tone 
which indicated no little surprise. 

“I did not expect to have time — that is — ” he 
said, and then stopped short, realizing that he 
was telling what seemed to him to be a despica- 
ble falsehood in order to cover his more despica- 
ble meanness in trying to come to the city with- 
out her knowledge, and then sneak away with- 


Playing With Fire. 15 1 

but seeing her. Her eyes fell, and the flush 
which came over her face seemed to Grover 
Hart to betoken much more of righteous indig- 
nation than sorrow. She quickly raised her 
eyes again and said quietly : “I must go home 
now. It is growing late. I hope you have en- 
joyed your visit in the city.*’ 

She was about to go when he stopped her by 
saying, in a tone such as he would have used in 
giving a military command : “Wait a minute! 
I will go with you. I want to talk with you.” 

“I don’t wish to trouble you,” she responded 
icily. “It is only a little way home and I can 
call a carriage at the next corner.” 

He came closer to her; so close that his next 
words were spoken in a low voice, but in that 
imperious tone which most women like to hear 
from the lips of one who is a leader and com- 
mander among men : “You could call a car- 


152 Through Stress and Storm. 

riage, but you will not, because I want you to 
walk with me so that I can talk with you.’’ 

Before they were fairly outside the building 
Grover Hart began talking to Evelyn Atherly 
in low tones and in a somewhat hurried man- 
ner, the cadence of his voice indicating that he 
was struggling with some powerful emotion and 
holding it back by the exercise of all the 
strength of will that he possessed. 

“I’m going to give up the struggle, ” he said. 
“For months and years I have been contending 
against God and all the angels in heaven, and 
against Satan and all the powers of darkness. 
But the contest is too unequal, and I must yield. 
Nothing remains to me now but to tell you my 
story, receive my sentence of condemnation 
from you, and go back to the dreary, miserable 
life that was mine before I knew you. 

“When the book which you sent to the sol- 


Playing With Fire. 153 

diers fell into my hands, I was powerfully im- 
pressed and attracted by your name. I thought 
it a beautiful name, and somehow I seemed to 
know it as well then as 1 do now. This trou- 
bled me, and I tried to dismiss the feeling, but 
could not. 

“For nearly three years I cherished your 
name, knowing nothing of you except that there 
lived a girl bearing that name. Then I saw 
you struggling in the water. Why it chanced 
to be myself and not some one else passing 
along that lonely road at that particular mo- 
ment, perhaps God knows; I don^t. 

“But even God doesn’t know what it was to 
me to take your magnificent form in my arms, 
as I had to in order to save you ; to feel your 
silken hair trailing against my face while I was 
swimming to the shore; to take your delicate 
hand in mine in seeking to discover whether 


154 Through Stress and Storm. 

you still lived ; to see your lustrous eyes unclose 
and look straight into mine, filling my whole 
soul with the glory of heaven. I could not en- 
dure it. I ran away. 

“You thought me boorish in not calling on 
3’’ou when you asked me to do so; so I was. But 
I dared not do it. I was in an agony of long- 
ing to see you, but I put down that feeling with 
the strength of a will such as I alone possess. 
God is my witness that until we began writing 
to each other I did not love you.’* 

He saw her eyes — which had been fixed on 
his face with a look of troubled, anxious in- 
quiry — drop in confusion, while her face paled 
and a shiver went over her frame, but he went 
on persistently : 

“But when you wrote to me and revealed in 
your letters the nobility of your mind and the 
beauty of your character ; when every expres- 


Playing With Fire. 155 

sion of your thoughts and feelings fed my mind 
and heart as with manna from heaven ; when I 
could feel my mind enlarge and my thoughts 
grow purer day by day because of the influence 
of your mind and heart upon mine; when, in 
process of time, this influence became as neces- 
sary to the growth of my mind and the develop- 
ment of my character as the air about me was 
indispensable to my physical life, how was it 
possible for me not to love you? 

“But I knew how hopeless my love must be. 
And I knew that were I to see you I should 
lose your friendship by revealing, in some way, 
my love. 

“And so I resolved not to see you. 

“And again lam brought into your presence, 
without my seeking. And I am not only com- 
pelled to look on the exquisite beauty of your 
face, but also to hear the tones of your sweet 


156 Through Stress and Storm. 

voice and look into the depths of your soul 
through your eyes. 

“But wnen, under these conditions, it is ex- 
pected of me that I will go away and leave you, 
and say nothing of all that is in my heart, I 
can only protest that no being in heaven or on 
earth has the right to require this of me. I am 
not a stock, nor a stone, nor a graven image, 
but a man; a man with an active, discriminat- 
ing mind, with a pure, true, warm heart. And 
if I should be condemned to suffer in eternal 
torment for it, I must speak and tell you that 
I love you!” 

She had been walking apart from him, her 
eyes cast down, her cheek flushing and paling 
by turns. But now, without lifting her eyes, 
she came closer to him, and slipped her hand 
within his arm as he kept on : “I love you with 
every power and attribute of my being. I love 


Playing With Fire. 157 

you with all my heart, with all my mind, with 
all my soul. To me you are the dearest, noblest, 
most beautiful girl that God ever made. 

“God knows I have tried not to love you,” 
— and there were tears in his eyes as well as in 
his voice when he said this — “but it has been of 
no avail. I know that you will despise me for 
my presumption, perhaps hate me. I know 
that 3’ou will never want to see me again, nor 
ever hear from me ” 

“Hush!” she said softly. “You are doing 
me a cruel wrong, as well as wronging your- 
self in what you are saying. Even if I did not 
love you, could I be unkind to you because you 
love me? Why shouldn’t you love me if you 
think that I am' worthy of your love? I am 
glad that you love me I I have admired you 
from the hour when I first saw you, though I 
long ago came to think as you did of your act 


158 Through Stress and Storm. 

in saving my life. You are entitled to no credit 
for it, because your brave, manly, noble nature 
would not permit you to do otherwise than as 
you did. 

“But I could not help admiring you for your 
strength, your bravery, your nobility. And 
when you wrote to me I cared more for your 
letters than I have ever told you. Through 
them I have come to know you so well, to sym- 
pathize with you in your struggle upward from 
ignorance and obscurity, to appreciate more 
and more how noble, brave and true you are, 
until I have become proud of you. 

“And now that you have told me of your love 
for me, I am free to say to you, without hesita- 
tion or shame, that which my heart has re- 
vealed to me within the last half hour — that I 
love you as truly, as fondly, as tenderly as you 
love me. 


Playing With Fire. 159 

“But why do you persist in thinking that 
there is some insuperable social barrier between 
us? There is nothing of the kind. You are more 
wise, more gifted, more learned than I. And I 
told you years ago of the fact that I am as poor 
as you can possibly be ; that I am dependent 
on my uncle and aunt for everything. But if 
I possessed the wealth of the world I would 
abandon it all — if it were necessary — and go 
with you to the ends of the earth. 

“But there will be no need that I should even 
offend my friends on your account. It may be 
that my uncle will be prejudiced against you. 
Indeed I fear that such is bis feeling already. 
But you will overcome it in time; and if I am 
worth having I am worth waiting for. But 
you must be manly and straightforward with 
uncle, and if you want leave to call on me 
you should see him and tell him so.” 


i6o Through Stress and Storm. 

While she was speaking they passed through 
the area gate in front of her home. Pausing 
for a moment, she withdrew her hand from 
her lover’s arm, turned and faced him, saying 
piquantly: “You have domineered over me and 
ordered me around ever since I have known you. 
Now it is my turn to lay some commands on 
you. You are not to leave this city to-night; 
and you are to dine with us at six to-morrow. 
I will take all the responsibility for the invita- 
tion. And you are to come early in the after- 
noon to see me. Good-night !” 

And with these words she flew up the steps 
and went into the house, leaving Grover Hart 
too bewildered to realize aught save the fact 
that the heavens and the earth had passed away, 
and lo! there was a new heaven and a new 
earth I 


A Provisional Acceptance. i6i 


VIII. 

A Provisional Acceptance. 

In his war-time experiences, Grover Hart had 
occasion, more than once, to realize the shrink- 
ing dread which comes even to the bravest of 
the brave when the storm of battle is about to 
break. . But he was compelled to admit to him- 
self that never before had he felt such agitation 
as seized upon him during the moment or two 
which elapsed while he was awaiting ^ re- 
sponse to the ringing of the door-bell by him at 
No. 78 Tenth Avenue. 

To his surprise and joy Evelyn herself ap- 
peared, and at once conducted him into the 
presence of her aunt and cousin. Their un- 
affected, cordial greeting put him at ease with 
himself and with them at once. And as for 


1 62 Through Stress and Storm. 

Evelyn, he could hardly persuade himself that 
he had never spoken to her before the preceding 
day! 

So rapidly flew the moments that when Mr. 
Atherly and dinner were announced, almost 
simultaneously, Grover Hart could not refrain 
from laughing inwardly when he remembered 
how he had pictured to himself the terrors of 
that afternoon. He had imagined the aunt as 
grimly eying him like some stern old dowager, 
and treating him with scant courtesy and ill- 
concealed disdain; her daughter studiously and 
ceremoniously polite, and poor Evelyn, flushed 
and mortified, doing her best to make his call 
as free from embarrassment as it could be under 
the circumstances. 

Instead of this he had enjoyed the society of 
three delightful entertainers, each of whom 
seemed unconsciously striving to outdo the 


A Provisional Acceptance. 163 

others in genuine friendliness, Evelyn eclipsing 
the rest only because she was the dearest and 
noblest girl on earth. 

At dinner he found Mr. Atherly to be a gen- 
tleman havrng a remarkable amount of general 
information, and possessing also that inbred 
and dignified courtesy and tact which became 
him, not like his well-fitting garments, but, 
like his pleasant voice and kindly eye, seemed a 
part of himself. 

It was very hard for Grover Hart to ask 
such a man for an interview, with such a pur- 
pose as he had in mind. But ^he reflected that 
it would be much harder not to do so. 

In the few romances which Grover Hart had 
read, the father, or guardian, on being asked 
for the hand of the fair maiden, had fallen into 
a rage, overwhelmed the presumptuous suitor 
with reproaches, and driven him from the 


164 Through Stress and Storm. 

house, with a stern injunction never to enter 
its doors again. He therefore anticipated 
nothing less than objections and opposition to 
his request, at the best. 

But despite his fears he managed to disclose 
to Mr. Atherly, in a frank and straightforward 
way, his love for Evelyn and his desire to obtain 
her consent to marry him, and asked permission 
to address her with that intent. Mr. Atherly, 
while expressing some natural surprise at the 
request, replied to it in a kind and fatherly way. 
He said to the young man, frankly, that he was 
not altogether such a one as he — as Evelyn’s 
guardian — would have chosen for a husband for 
Evelyn. Still he would not oppose his wishes 
if Evelyn should be willing to marry him and 
if, on inquiry, nothing derogatory to his char- 
acter should be disclosed. 

While going down the stairway, after this 


A Provisional Acceptance. 165 

interview, Grover Hart paused on one of the 
steps long enough to thrust the point of a pin 
into his arm. He knew that one who is dream- 
ing cannot, in his dreams, inflict pain on him- 
self. He may dream of gashing his flesh with 
a knife, of being pierced by a bullet; he may be 
greatly terrified thereat, but the sensation of 
pain is absent. 

“I feel pain in my arm,” said Grover Hart 
to himself, “therefore I am awake. But every- 
thing that has happened to me during the past 
twenty-four hours almost passes belief. I 
have always heard that ‘the course of true 
love never did run smooth.’ But I love Eve- 
lyn as no mortal man ever before loved mortal 
woman. And I know that she loves me. And 
yet not only is the course of our true love run- 
ning with the utmost smoothness, but it would 
seem that by some unseen power every valley 


1 66 Through Stress and Storm. 

is being exalted and every mountain brought 
low, the crooked made straight and the rough 
places smooth for the course of our love.” 

He found Evelyn alone and awaiting, with 
manifest anxiety, his dismissal from the confer- 
ence with her uncle. As he entered the room 
she arose and came forward to meet him. As 
she did so the look of anxiety on her face gave 
way to an arch smile as she said: ‘T’ve no 
doubt that you are a very skillful diplomat ; the 
success of your mission shows that. But you 
lack one important aid in diplomacy; your face 
always discloses what is going on in your mind. 
I have no need to ask you the result of your 
talk with uncle; your face reveals it.” 

“But you don’t know what he said to me,” 
said Hart jubilantly, “and I want to tell you. 
He gave me permission to ask you for your 
hand. Will you give it to me?” 


A Provisional Acceptance. 167 

Whether that question was ever answered in 
words, and if it was what the words were, the 
parties to the conversation were never afterward 
able to remember. Indeed they were conscious 
of little else than the fact that they were su- 
premely happy, too happy to take note of even 
the flight of time, until the clear chime of the 
French clock on the mantel struck the hour of 
ten. This served to remind Grover Hart that if 
he would not forfeit the fairly good opinion in 
which he seemed to be held by Evelyn’s kin- 
dred he must take his departure at once. 

Taking a formal though courteous leave of 
all the members of the family — including Eve- 
lyn — he retired from their presence into the 
hall, put on his overcoat and was reaching for 
his hat, when Evelyn appeared. Coming close 
to him she placed one of her soft, white hands 
upon his shoulder, lifted her tear-suffused eyes 


1 68 Through Stress and Storm. 

to his for an instant, then hid her face on his 
arm so that her tears could flow unrestrained 
and unseen. 

With delicate gentleness did Grover Hart 
encircle her waist with his strong arm, saying 
soothingly: “Don’t cry, little girl! I’m com- 
ing again before very long, you know. And 
then I shall write to you just as soon as I reach 
home. And we’re going to be very, very 
happy, aren’t we?” 

Then tenderly lifting her tear-wet face, he 
bowed his head lower and lower until his lips 
met hers in a kiss of pure, true, abiding love. 
The strength and vigor of his mind, the 
warmth and tenderness of his heart, the pas- 
sionate longing of his soul for her, were all re- 
vealed in the pressure of his lips on hers. 

And as the rays of the summer sun cause the 
crimson heart of the rosebud to burst into 


A Provisional Acceptance. 169 

bloom, so the fervor of his kiss warmed into 
activity the dormant tenderness of her nature 
— a nature made up “of spirit, fire, and dew.” 
And in her answering kiss she pledged to him 
all her life, mind, heart, soul and being. 

Whatever the future might bring to either 
Grover Hart or Evelyn Atherly, their lives 
could never again be as they had been. For in 
the magnetic thrill of their kiss of betrothal a 
part of the soul life of each had gone into the 
spiritual life-currents of the other, there to 
abide as long as they should exist, whether in 
time or in eternity. 

The train on which Grover Hart had planned 
to leave the city was scheduled to start from 

the Street station at 5 :30 o’clock in the 

morning. Had the hour been four o’clock it 
would have been no hardship for him to be 
ready in time ; for not once during the night 


170 Through Stress and Storm. 

did he fall asleep. His happiness was too in- 
tense, too ecstatic to lose one moment from its 
enjoyment. 

Long before daybreak he left the hotel, to the 
wonderment of the clerk, who assured him that 
it would be a full hour before the train would 
leave, and he could easily walk to the station 
in twenty minutes. 

Instead of going directly to the station, 
Grover Hart took his way up Tenth Avenue. 
On the way he met several stolid-looking 
policemen, more than one of whom eyed him 
suspiciously. One of them went so far as to fol- 
low him for more than a block. 

“This is pleasant,” said Grover Hart to him- 
self ironically. “This is exceedingly pleas- 
ant ! Here am I, an innocent young man from 
the country^ on my way to bid an unknown, un- 
heard adieu to my lady-love; and yet I*m in 


A Provisional Acceptance. 171 

imminent danger of being arrested as a suspi- 
cious character. How on earth could I explain 
my movements, either at the station house or in 
the police court?’* 

Having arrived in front of the Atherly resi- 
dence, his eyes sought the window of the room 
which he thought to be Evelyn’s. For a few 
moments he stood, pouring forth from the depths 
of his heart unutterable thoughts and feelings 
of love and tenderness toward the vision of love- 
liness which his imagination pictured to him 
as concealed within the hallowed walls of 
Evelyn’s sleeping apartment. 

From the contemplation of this vision he suf- 
fered his thoughts as well as his eyes to rove 
for a brief time through the depths of the 
heavens above and around him. The darkness 
of a clear, warm, October night was just be- 
ginning to pale before the coming of a bright 


172 Through Stress and Storm. 

October day. In the north the Great Bear was 
slowly pacing his endless journey around 
Polaris ; westward the red shield of Mars was 
hanging low in the sapphire sky; in the south 
flamed the sword of Orion ; while in the east, 
upon the very edge of the advancing dawn, 
Venus was shining with pure, white radiance, 
like a pearl on the brow of the morning. 

To Grover Hart it seemed that he was at that 
moment occupying the most desirable place in 
the universe and in time, from which to view 
this splendid panorama of the starry worlds. 
He was near the mansion which enclosed and 
guarded the idol of his soul in her sweet and 
peaceful slumbers. He was in the morning of 
life; and his life was already crowned and glori- 
fied by the love of Evelyn Atherly ; while his 
heart was just then overflowing with the rap- 
ture of his love for her. ‘ ‘ God of the heavens I I 


A Provisional Acceptance. 173 

thank Thee for giving to me my Evelyn,” he 
said fervently. 

The train on which Grover Hart took pas- 
sage from the city was an accommodation train, 
which stopped at every station, and moved at 
so slow a rate that one in haste would have been 
annoyed to the point of exasperation. But 
Grover Hart was not in haste. Indeed he ex- 
perienced a feeling of regret that he was being 
carried farther and farther from Evelyn. 

His thoughts were of her continually. He 
tried to interest himself in a book, but could 
not. He bought a morning paper and looked 
through ‘its columns to see if by chance there 
should be a reference to Evelyn’s uncle or to 
her uncle’s family. And then he smiled at the 
absurdity of his thought that possibly he might 
see Evelyn’s name in print. 

He consulted a time-table to see at what hour 


174 Through Stress and Storm. 

his train would arrive at Pittsburg. He was to 
leave the train there in order to collect some 
money which was due him from a resident of 
that city. The amount was not large; but he 
would need all the money due him if he were 
to have Evelyn to support — and then for an in- 
stant thought ceased, and his mind seemed to 
become a blank, because of a suggestion con- 
tained in the idea which had just occurred to 
him. 

And it was from a feeling of bewilder- 
ment and positive terror that he brought his 
mind to this thought — “If I am to have Evelyn 
to support.” 

Of course he was to have Evelyn to support, 
as well as to love, protect and cherish. He 
and she were to be married, and when they 
were married he must support her. But how? 
And his terror increased as he realized that 


A Provisional Acceptance. 175 

this was a subject which he had never before 
really considered for a moment. 

In all his acquaintance with Evelyn Atherly, 
the thought of marrying her had never been 
allowed a lodgment in his mind. He had re- 
fused to think of such an event as possible. He 
had gone to the city with no intention of seeing 
her. He had been thrown into her society with- 
out his will. He had declared his love for her 
because he could not help doing so. And in all 
that had followed, he had been so anxious to 
win and to retain her love and to obtain her con- 
sent to marry him that he had never once re- 
flected that marriage with Evelyn would in- 
volve the question of shelter, food and raiment 
for her. 

But that question was confronting him now 
and must be met. Nervously taking from his 
pocket a memorandum book containing his cash 


176 Through Stress and Storm. 

account for the preceding year, he hastily added 
the amounts received each month. It was 
quickly done. And the sum total was repre- 
sented by only three figures ! 

He replaced the book in his pocket mechanic- 
ally. A chill like ^that of death was creeping 
over his frame, although the air seemed to be 
stifling him with its heat. He arose and groped 
his way out of the coach to the platform. For 
a moment he meditated flinging himself from 
the train and being ground into fragments by 
the wheels. 

But the thought came to him that this would 
be a sin against God, and — still worse — it 
would break Evelyn’s heart. He must spare 
Evelyn’s feelings, whatever might be the cost 
to himself. He would go back into the coach, 
sit down and think the matter over. He would 
be calm and brave. 


A Provisional Acceptance. 177 

He would think of Evelyn first. How well 
he remembered everything pertaining to her 
which fell under his observation during all the 
time he was in her presence. How marvel- 
ously beautiful she was! How tasteful, yet how 
rich, her a,pparel ! And her home I How ele- 
gant it was in all its appointments, yet wholly 
devoid of everything which could have the ap- 
pearance of an ostentatious display of wealth. 
It had impressed him as being in appearance just 
what it was in fact — an abiding place of refine- 
ment, culture, ease, affluence. 

Then he turned his thoughts to the village in 
which he lived, as it had appeared to him on 
the day when he first saw Evelyn. How piti- 
fully small and mean it seemed, with its un- 
paved streets, its low, wooden buildings, and 
the general air of newness and roughness which 
pervaded it. 


1 78 Through Stress and Storm. 

He thought of the cheap boarding-house 
where he took his meals, and of those with 
whom he was there daily brought in contact ; 
good, honest, intelligent people, but not at all 
noted for their learning or refinement. He 
thought of his small, dingy oflSce, and of the 
little room adjoining it in which he slept, be- 
cause his poverty forbade his occupying more 
commodious lodgings. 

And it was into surroundings such as these 
that he must take Evelyn, after their mar- 
riage. 

What would be the inevitable result? How- 
ever much she might love him, and, loving him 
find happiness in his society ; however free she 
might keep herself for a time from the influ- 
ences of her environment; these must, in a little 
while, drag her down to a life of poverty and 
wretchedness, dim the luster of her glorious 


A Provisional Acceptance. 179 

eyes, rob her cheek of its bloom and still the 
happy song upon her lips. 

And he shuddered to think what she must 
become — even in his loving eyes — when the 
matchless symmetry of her divinely-molded 
form should be hidden by coarse garments ; her 
delicate, white hands grown hard and brown ; 
the lilies and roses now blooming on her fair 
face faded and gone forever. 

And then there came into his mind a remem- 
brance that made his soul fairly cringe with an 
agony of shame. He recalled the fact that Eve- 
lyn’s uncle had asked him, pointedly, the ex- 
tent of his income. He had thought it a 
strange, almost impertinent question. He did 
not at the time comprehend why it was asked, 
but thought that it was to ascertain his stand- 
ing and reputation as a physician. 

And he had not answered with entire frank- 


i8o Through Stress and Storm. 

ness. He had given figures which represented 
his expected rather than his actual income. He 
had not intended to deceive, but he had unwit- 
tingly deceived Evelyn’s guardian. He had 
meant to tell the truth; but he, Grover Hart, 
who prided himself on his truthfulness, had 
really told a falsehood. 

But with this mortifying remembrance there 
was a gleam of hope. Shortly before leaving 
home, he had learned that Dr. Clifford had 
sent in his resignation as local surgeon of the 

Railway Co. He — Dr. Hart — had applied 

for the place thus left vacant, and had been as- 
sured by the local agent of the company that 
he would, without doubt, be appointed. The 
amount which he would receive from this source 
would increase his income to the figure given 
Mr. Atherly. He had requested that the reply 
to his application should be mailed to him at 


A Provisional Acceptance. i8i 

Pittsburg. Should the answer be favorable he 
could marry Evelyn. It would indicate that 
God had prepared a way by which he might 
obtain the desire of his heart. 

But again doubts rose up to trouble him. He 
knew that Dr. Clifford was not friendly to him, 
had always been jealous of him — and especially 
so since the operation on Ben Gregor — and 
would leave nothing undone to prevent his ap- 
pointment. Should his application be denied, 
it would mean that God did not want Evelyn 
to marry him. 

And so in alternating moods of hope, fear and 
despair he endured the passing of the hours, 
until, just as evening was coming on, the train 
arrived at Pittsburg. 

Springing from the steps before the cars had 
ceased moving, Grover Hart ran to the post 
oflSce, inquired for his mail, and was handed an 


1 82 Through Stress and Storm. 

official looking document. Tearing open the 
envelope, in desperate haste, he read: 

Eailway Company. 

^^Office of Snrgeon-in-Chief, 
^Philadelphia, Oct. 12, 18 — . 
‘^Grover Hart, M.D., Pittsburg, Pa. 

‘^Sir: Eeplying to your application of Oct. 
9th inst., I beg leave to say that Dr. Clifford 
has withdrawn his resignation as local surgeon 

for this company at Z . 

Yours respectfully, 

B. Chester, 

^^Surgeon-in-Chief, Ey. Co.^^ 

Almost directly across the street from the 
post office was a dingy-looking building, on 
which was displayed the sign ^Parmers’ 
Home.” Into this miserable shelter Grover 
Hart staggered rather than walked. He de- 
clined all suggestions of food — although he 


A Provisional Acceptance. 183 

had eaten nothing that day — and was shown to 
his room. Without undressing he threw him- 
self upon the bed. 

He was dimly conscious of a dull, torturing 
pain about his heart. Tiny rivulets of molten 
metal seemed to be coursing their throbbing 
way through his brain. But to these things he 
paid no heed. 

His mind . went hack to the time when, in his 
little tent before Petersburg, he had first seen 
Evelyn’s name. And his thoughts traced every 
event since then that related to Evelyn or to his 
love for her. 

He tried to think wherein he had done wrong. 
Surely he must, in some way, have done 
wrong, else God would not punish him so 
cruelly. God had created Evelyn for him. Her 
ravishing beauty, her noble mind, her loving 
heart were all for him. Since Adam first met 


1 84 Through Stress and Storm. 

Eve in Paradise, no mortal man had ever loved 
mortal woman as he loved Evelyn. 

But though God had created Evelyn for him, 
and had brought her to him in such a way as 
to awaken all the intense, passionate, absorbing 
love of his soul for her, God had so hedged him 
about with poverty that he must either renounce 
Evelyn or marry her to the destruction of her 
happiness. What moral lesson could God teach 
the earth or the universe by such cruel mockery? 

He would not give up his Evelyn ! He loved 
her and she loved him. He, would marry her, 
and neither God nor demons should prevent it ! 

Yes, he could marry her. Evelyn would 
marry him even if she knew of the bitter pov- 
erty which would be hers as his wife. If he 
were selfish enough, mean enough, cowardly 
enough to do so, he could drag her down from 
affluence to poverty, from happiness to misery. 


A Provisional Acceptance. 185 

God would not prevent him from marrying 
Evelyn. God had shown him that he ought 
not to marry her. But God would not compel 
him to do right, if he should choose to do 
wrong. Demons would rejoice if he were to 
marry Evelyn and thus ruin her life. 

He could not understand why it should be so. 
He had always tried to do his very best for God. 
And now God was tearing his heart out of his 
bosom, and, with cruel torture, breaking his 
heartstrings one by one. 

From the blessed unconsciousness which 
saved his reason, Grover Hart came back to 
consciousness but slowly. Where was he? 
What had happened? Something terrible, he 
knew. Something that made his heart ache 
and his brain burn. Yes, he remembered. His 
Evelyn was being taken away from him. He 
could hear, far away, the tones of a bell ; not 


1 86 Through Stress and Storm. 

ringing, but tolling, tolling. He wondered 
whether the bell was being tolled for Evelyn. 

He opened his eyes. The room was dark, the 
night was cold and still. On the south side of 
the room he could see the outlines of a window. 
The shutters were closed, but through a crevice 
he could see a single star. 

He must arise and write to Evelyn. If he 
should wait until morning he would not have 
the moral strength to do so. Groping on the 
table near his bed he found matches and lighted 
a dirty, foul-smelling lamp. Then he took from 
a drawer in the table a single sheet of paper and 
wrote : 

“Pittsburg, October 14th. 

“My dear Evelyn: You will doubtless be 
surprised at receiving a letter from me so soon, 
and still more surprised at what I write. 

“I arrived here this evening and found a bit- 


A Provisional Acceptance. 187 

ter and cruel disappointment awaiting me. Its 
nature I cannot reveal even to you. 

“On this account and for reasons which I 
cannot explain to you, I feel compelled to ask 
you to release me from my engagement to you. 

“This request is not made because I do not 
love you. I love you as fondly, as tenderly as 
ever. But circumstances which I cannot dis- 
close to you compel me to take this step. 

“I do not know how I can add anything to 
this except to say — Farewell. 

“Your unhappy lover, 

“Grover Hart.” 

To fold, seal and address this note was the 
work of a moment. And then the writer of the 
note sat for a few minutes, wearily, literally 
holding his fate in his hands. 

“I must mail this to-night,” he said to him- 
self. “Were I to wait until morning I should 
destroy it. In the company or even in the sight 


1 88 Through Stress and Storm. 

of others, I should forget God. I am alone with 
God now and must do as He wills.*’ 

In the office of the hotel was a post-box. As 
Grover Hart was approaching it, there rose up 
from behind the desk a dirty-faced, unkempt 
boy of about ten years of age. “Sick, mister?” 
was his sententious inquiry. 

“The approach to hell seems to be guarded 
by a very small demon,” was the thought of 
Grover Hart as he muttered a negative reply 
to the boy’s question. 

He lifted the lid which covered the aperture 
of the box, and flung in the letter. Then as the 
full import of what he had done fell upon him, 
he suppressed a moan, turned and walked with 
tottering steps to the stairway. And as he was 
dragging himself up the stairs by clinging to 
the rail, there came into his mind his own 
words, spoken many months before: “There 


A Provisional Acceptance. 189 

are times when the most manly thing a man can 
do is to sit down and cry like a child.’* And 
from his heart went out a silent wail of agony, 
“Would to God that I could I Would to God 
that I could!” 

Entering his room, he found his way to the 
window and threw open the blinds. The 
heavens were overcast with light clouds except 
in the south, where, in a clear space, glittered 
the star which he had seen a few moments be- 
fore as its rays were falling on his face. It was 
the star Sirius I 


190 Through Stress and Storm. 


IX. 

Acting in Haste* 

How Grover Hart made his way home from 
Pittsburg, he never knew. He was afterward 
able to remember, but imperfectly, the fact of 
changing cars somewhere on the route; of being 
put off the train, about fifty miles west of his 
home, by an irate conductor who asked him — 
with ungentle sarcasm — whether he was drunk 
or only a fool; of going into his office in the 
early morning, falling upon a couch, and for 
more than a day and a night making no effort 
to arise. 

He was a physician, but it did not occur to 
him that he was ill. Had he given the most 
casual professional consideration to his own 
case, it would have been plain to him that the 


Meeting in Haste. 191 

mental strain which he had undergone had 
brought on a low, nervous fever, with semide- 
lirium ; that he needed medical treatment, care 
and rest. He was conscious of only one thing . 
that a terrible calamity had befallen him ; that 
all that made life of any value to him had been 
taken away at one stroke; that whatever the 
future might bring, life must be a burden and 
a sorrow to the end. 

He was too weak to pray for death ; and had 
he been able to do so it would have availed him 
nothing. Very seldom does death accept the 
invitation of those who desire his coming. He 
is too busily engaged in visiting those who are 
filled with sorrow and terror at the announce- 
ment of his approach. 

When Grover Hart had so far recovered that 
he was able to receive and visit his patients, he 
took up the duties of his profession in a spirit- 


192 Through Stress and Storm. 

less, mechanical way that indicated an utter 
want of interest in the things which had always 
been of most absorbing interest to him. Instead 
of the pleasant smile with which his face had 
been habitually lighted, his countenance wore 
an expression of most profound sadnpss. In 
place of his usual cheerful, frank demeanor, his 
manner became cold, abstracted, almost sullen. 
All this was noted by the village gossips, and 
many were the speculations as to the cause of 
the change; but the truth was not even sus- 
pected. 

It was a little more than a week after his re- 
turn home when Grover Hart took from his 
lock- box at the post ofiSce a letter, which he saw 
at a glance was from Evelyn Atherly. He 
was not expecting to receive a letter from her. 
He had not once thought that she might or 
would reply to his letter to her. But his mind 


Meeting in Haste. 193 

was so incapable of any emotion that he felt no 
surprise at receiving the letter nor curiosity as 
to its contents. 

Returning leisurely to his office he tore open 
the envelope as he would that of a business let- 
ter and read : 


“Philadelphia, October 20th. 

“I have received your letter written from 
Pittsburg on the 14th inst. I cannot in any 
way express the surprise and grief which I felt 
on receiving such a message from you. In some 
way I knew before opening it that it brought 
sorrow to me. Even the handwriting seemed 
to be strange and unnatural. 

“I cannot understand why you have treated 
me so cruelly. Had you never spoken to me of 
love, and had you ended our correspondence at 
once on your return home after seeing me, I 
should have regretted losing you as a friend, 
but I should have had no reason to complain of 


194 Through Stress and Storm. 

3^our conduct in any respect. But when you 
professed to love me, I accepted your professions 
without question, and believed, as well as hoped, 
that I could make your life happier than it had 
ever been. 

“Why your feelings should change toward 
me so suddenly I cannot even imagine. In 
j^our note you refer to a disappointment which 
you experienced at Pittsburg, but you did not 
take the pains to tell me what it was. It could 
not have been in the amount of money you were 
to receive there, as I remember that you spoke 
of it as a small sum. 

“But it is not at all necessary that I should 
know why you have changed. It only remains 
for me to write the words you desire — namely, 
that you are free. And with these words goes 
my sincere wish that your life may be happier 
than mine can ever be. 

“I do not need to add that I do not wish to 
hear from you again in any way. 


“Evelyn Atherly.” 


Meeting in Haste. 195 

The reading of this letter awakened no emo- 
tion of any kind in the mind of Grover Hart. 
He read it through hurriedly, though carefully, 
destroyed it at once, and turned to his work as 
indifferently as he would from the reading of 
an advertisement. 

Why this was so he was never afterward able 
to divine. Indeed he could never make it real 
to himself that he was the one who wrote the 
letter from Pittsburg, and received the one 
which came in reply to it. To him these events 
always seemed like parts of a story which he 
had heard or read ; not an experience of bis own. 
But when he came to himself — as he did after 
less than two weeks of mental exile — bis self- 
condemnation knew no limit. He made no at- 
tempt to palliate bis offense on the ground that 
when it was committed he was ill, and his mind 
so wrought upon by disappointment and anxiety 


196 Through Stress and Storm. 

that his mental faculties were like driftwood on 
the ocean, to be driven wheresoever the winds 
and waves might will. He felt that whatever 
his physical or mental condition was, or might 
have been, his sin against God, against Eve- 
lyn, and against himself was inexcusable^ un- 
pardonable. 

He denounced himself as a villain and a 
coward. He was a villain to win the love of 
the best and noblest of womankind, and then 
basely renounce her. He could not blame him- 
self for loving her, nor for telling her of his 
love. But after asking her to marry him, he 
should have kept his promise to her, even though 
such a course might have brought unhappiness 
to her. 

He was a coward in fearing to face the future 
with implicit, unquestioning faith in God, in 
Evelyn and in himself. He had many times 


Meeting in Haste. 197 

talked very glibly and very piously, in the 
covenant meetings of his church, about his 
faith in God. But the very first time that God 
had called on him to exercise an infinitessimal 
amount of faith, he had shown that his boasting 
of faith was but a shallow, hypocritical pretense. 

God had ransacked the universe to find the 
richest, choicest material out of which to form 
Evelyn for him; had created her, brought her 
to him, and literally placed her in his arms, and 
he — like the cowardly cur that he was — had in 
a senseless panic thrown her away. 

If he had no faith in God, he ought to have 
had faith in Evelyn. Had he married her ex- 
treme poverty might and probably would have 
been their lot. But with youth and health and, 
above all, their soul-satisfying love for each 
other, Evelyn as well as he would have been su- 
premely happy, though a garret might have been 


198 Through Stress and Storm. 

their only home, a crust of bread and a pitcher 
of water their only fare. 

When the message of disappointment came 
to him at Pittsburg, instead of acting like a 
frightened child, he ought to have written Eve- 
lyn in a brave, manly way, telling her of the 
failure of his prospects, revealing to her his true 
financial condition, and leaving to her the decis- 
ion of the question whether their engagement 
should or should not continue. 

She would have been true to her word and to 
him. She would have taken him for richer or 
poorer. She would have known that with his 
youth, his ambition, his ability in his profes- 
sion, he could lift himself and her out of a con- 
dition of poverty to one of comparative comfort. 

It was hard to be compelled to acknowledge 
to himself that he was a villain ; much harder to 
have to despise himself as a coward. But after 


Meeting in Haste. 199 

a fair and impartial trial before the tribunal of 
his own conscience— a trial in which Grover 
Hart was his own accuser, defender and judge; 
a trial lasting many days, and in which every- 
thing that could be urged in favor of or against 
the accused was duly considered — he was com- 
pelled to pronounce himself guilty of cowardice 
so base in its nature and so deplorable in its 
consequences as not to be distinguishable from 
downright villainy. 

This conclusion reached, all that remained to 
be done was to pronounce the doom of the cul- 
prit. And he determined that the punishment 
should be as severe as he could devise. He 
knew that for him there could be no forgive- 
ness. Were he to ask it, neither Evelyn nor her 
friends could ever pardon an offense so gross 
and inexcusable. The last sentence of Evelyn’s 
letter clearly indicated that. Indeed, he could 


200 Through Stress and Storm. 

never have the assurance to ask it. More un- 
wise than Esau of old, he had basely relin- 
quished the greatest blessing heaven or earth 
could give; and for him there could be found 
no place for repentance, though he might seek 
it with prayers and with tears. 

His punishment should be such as to keep 
Constantly before his mind his sin, its enor- 
mity, and its consequences. And so he made a 
solemn vow before Almighty God that, as long 
as he should live, he would never forgive him- 
self ; never cease to upbraid and reproach him- 
self for his culpable wickedness; that he would 
never allow himself anything in the nature of 
self-indulgence, however little it might be. 
And he would bear this self-imposed burden 
bravely and without complaint. God would 
never trust him again Unfaithful as he had 
been in the hour of greatest responsibility, God 


Meeting in Haste. 201 

could not well confide to him responsibility in 
small matters. Whatever work he would do for 
God, must be done unasked, undesired. 

But he could and would work for his fellow- 
men. He could help heal the sick, comfort the 
afflicted, and bring a little light and peace into 
darkened homes and shadowed lives. He would 
walk humbly and softly before the Lord all his 
days, in the bitterness of his soul, remembering 
at every step of his way through life the immeas- 
urable difference between what he was and 
what he might have been had he married Eve- 
lyn. His punishment, like that of Cain, might 
be greater than he could bear. But he would 
endure it to the end of his life; and if remorse, 
grief and deprivation should shorten his days, 
so much the better. 

Having thus marked out for himself the 
course of his life, Grover Hart delayed not for 


202 Through Stress and Storm. 

an hour to enter the path which his feet must 
thereafter tread. But grievous as he knew the 
way must be, the resolution which he formed, 
to walk uncomplainingly through the fires of 
the hell he had made for himself, seemed to 
allay, to some extent, the turbulence of his emo- 
tions. 

He again took up his professional duties, not 
with pleasure, nor with zest, but with faithful- 
ness. His former manner he also resumed as 
suddenly as he had laid it aside. To wear an air 
of cheerfulness was a duty, he reasoned within 
himself, and his sin and suffering in no way 
absolved him from this duty. However much 
his heart might ache, his face must wear a smile. 

He gave much thought to the subject of ways 
by which he could humiliate and afflict himself, 
without detriment to the welfare or happiness of 
others. There was very little that he could do 


Meeting in Haste. 203 

in this direction more than he had always done. 
So far as material comforts went, he could 
hardly deprive himself of anything which his 

poverty permitted without injury to his health. 

% 

And he could not reason himself into the belief 
that it would be right for him to commit sui- 
cide, by either direct or indirect means. 

Moreover, there was no pain or suffering 
which he could inflict upon his physical being, 
even were he to become a flagellant, which could 
be worthy of his effort as compared with the 
crucifixion of soul which was his daily, hourly 
experience. 

Whenever he was alone, and his mind other- 
wise unemployed, he compelled himself to fix 
his thoughts on one subject : Evelyn, her beauty, 
her love, her trust ; his own weakness and folly 
and his immeasurable loss. 

He could recall every word of the last letter 


204 Through Stress and Storm. 

written by her to him. And his soul seemed to 
quiver with anguish — even as his flesh would 
have quivered under a white-hot iron— as he re- 
membered her accusation of unfaithfulness. He 
knew that whenever she might think of him she 
would believe that he had changed, that he 
had ceased to love her; when in truth he had 
never for one instant ceased to love her with a 
love so absorbing, so devoted, so intense, that 
the loss of her was filling his whole being with 
acutest agony. 

If Evelyn could only know ; if in some way 
he could tell her that he did love her ; that he 
was not faithless to her in a single thought ; 
that he had never ceased to love her, and could 
never cease to love her. But no, he ought not 
to tell her this. She ought never to know it. 
She could not forgive him; she would despise 
him but little less than he despised himself. 


Meeting in Haste. 205 

Better that she should not know. It must be a 
part of his punishment to feel that Evelyn did 
not, could not know how tenderly, how madly 
he loved her. 

The remorseful self -condemnatory reflections 
with which Grover Hart reproached himself, 
day after day, were marked by no outward 
manifestation of the mental pain which tortured 
him. He did not walk the floor, nor wring his 
hands; and there was no one near him to mark 
how his face paled and great drops of moisture 
stood on his brow. But his sufferings left their 
impress, and gradually his face became pallid 
and thin, dark circles formed under his eyes, 
and his manner, though habitually cheerful and 
kindly toward all whom he met, became more 
and more abstracted and grave. 

These indications of a mind oppressed were 
noticed by only a few of those whom he met 


2 o 6 Through Stress and Storm. 

casually and occasionally, as he had no inti- 
mate associates and eschewed society altogether. 

One of the few was Mrs. Callender, who, from 
the time when he was a mere boy, had always 
taken a motherly interest in him. And so, on 
one occasion when he was making a professional 
visit to the Callender homestead, that good lady 
took him vigorously in hand. 

“I wish you were my boy,’* she said, “so 
that I could give you a good shaking ! What 
ails you, anyway, Grover Hart? You go around 
acting as solemn as if you had lost your last 
friend on earth. And you look as if you didn’t 
have half enough to eat and as if your clothes 
were thrown on in any way that came bandy. 
Why don’t you take some pains with yourself 
and spruce up, and look neat and sleek and trim 
as you used to look? You need a wife more 
than you need anything else in this world. You 


Meeting- in Haste. 207 

ought to marry some good, capable girl who 
would look after you and keep you tidy. Why 
don’t you get married, I’d like to know?” 

Her words were like dagger-thrusts to poor 
Grover Hart, but he laughed as if her sugges- 
tion were the greatest joke imaginable, and an- 
swered 

“I. get married! Who on earth would marry 
me?” 

-“Who wouldn’t marry you? you’d better 
ask. There are mighty few out of any number 
of nice, marriageable girls in the State of Ohio 
who wouldn’t marry you out of hand, and you 
know it. But if you haven’t ambition enough 
or spunk enough to look around for yourself, 
until some one points out a girl to you, I can 
tell you of one who would make just the right 
kind of a wife for you. Why don’t you think 
of Grace Coburn? There’s a girl for you! 


2 o 8 Through Stress and Storm. 

Handsome, well-educated, industrious, eco- 
nomical. What do you or any man want in a 
wife more than that? You could make a good 
home for her and save her from wearing out her 
life in teaching. And you would be somebody 
yourself then. And you ought to know that you 
never will be anybody nor amount to anything, 
as long as you go about moping like a solitary 
gander in one corner of a goose pasture.” 

This apparently idle chatter of a silly old 
woman disturbed the mind of Grover Hart more 
than he would have cared to acknowledge, even 
to himself. The subject of her talk was not 
merely distasteful; the thought of marrying 
was to him most repulsive. For hours after 
he had hurried away from the presence of Mrs. 
Callender, he vainly tried to drive the whole 
matter out of his mind. And when, in spite of 
himself, there came to his remembrance her ad- 


Meeting- in Haste. 209 

vice to him to marry, he fairly shuddered with 
disgust. 

But at that instant there came into his mind 
a suggestion so clear and forcible that it seemed 
to him that some unseen being must have ut- 
tered in his ear the words, “If the thought of 
marrying any one except Evelyn pains you, 
what would be the reality? If you seek anguish 
of mind, why not find it here?’’ 

At first he felt like crying out to God to in- 
flict on him any punishment save that. Then 
he reflected that God had no part in his punish- 
ment. He was his own judge, and the execu- 
tioner of his own sentence. 

He had vowed to make his life as hard 
and bitter as possible. Nothing else that 
could be devised would be such a constant, 
so maddening a reminder of his sin and 
loss as to see by his fireside and at his table 


210 Through Stress and Storm. 

hour after hour and day after day, a face 
which was not the face of Evelyn. 

But it would be adding villainy to villainy, 
were he to pretend to feel one spark of love for 
any woman save Evelyn. And what living 
woman, knowing the truth, would marry him? 
If he should marry, he must marry some wo- 
man who could not love him, and who would 
marry him knowing that he did not love her. 

Naturally he thought of Grace Coburn. She 
could not love him, that was certain. Her 
heart had been irrevocably given to the grace- 
less scamp who had made love to her as a holi- 
day diversion. Would it not be right for him 
to ask her to accept a home with him, take the 
honorable protection of his name and share his 
fortunes — or misfortunes — with the understand- 
ing that there was no love on his part for her, 
none on her part for him? 


Meeting in Haste. 21 1 

Such an arrangement, if entered into from a 
mercenary or other unworthy motive, would be 
a foul crime. But his motive in marrying her 
would be unquestionably right in the sight of 
God, and would be according to the dictates of 
his own conscience. And should she consent 
to marry him, her reason for so doing would at 
least be an innocent one. 

% 

There was no need that he should tell her that 
his object in marrying her was to punish him- 
self for not marrying another. To her such a 
thought would seem ridiculous. If he should 
tell her truly that he did not love her, but that 
he would treat her as kindly and care for her 
as anxiously and zealously as if he did love her, 
this would be all that the most delicate con- 
science could require of him. 

He had no idea that she would listen to his 
proposition for a moment. But conscientious 


212 Through Stress and Storm. 

fidelity to the vow he had made before the Lord 
demanded of him that he should marry Grace 
Coburn, if she should be willing to marry him. 
By what obliquity or perversity of his moral or 
mental nature he reached this conclusion, he 
was never afterward able to understand. And 
his was not the only case in the history of man- 
kind, in which the leadings of an active, en- 
lightened conscience were opposed to every 
principle of casuistry. 


All’s Well That Ends Well.” 213 


X. 

^^Airs Well That Ends Well " 

With Grover Hart action followed hard after 
resolution. It was but a day or two after his 
talk with Mrs. Callender that he determined to 
make an offer of marriage to Grace Coburn. 
The evening of the same day found him in her 
presenca 

With a frankness that was almost blunt, he 
made known to her the object of his visit. She 
listened with no little surprise, while he told her 
of his love for another, and of the hopelessness 
of his passion. But he gave her no hint or clew 
by which she could ever be able to identify the 
one of whom he spoke. 

Very delicately he referred to her *own: heart- 
history, and then suggested, rather than asked. 


214 Through Stress and Storm. 

that as they were similarly situated, they 
should unite their lives, interests and fortunes. 

Grace Coburn did not even blush at this sug- 
gestion, but at first seemed rather amused at 
the thought of their agreeing to marry, like two 
small children, without a shadow of love on the 
part of either for the other. In a moment her 
face became grave as she said : “But I do not 
love you, and you do not love me. Why then 
should we marry?” 

“Why should we not?” was his ready an- 
swer. “You say that you do not love me. So I 
assumed before I spoke. I assume also that 
you can never love me. To be plain with you, 
if I believed that there could ever be a time 
when you would love me, I should not wish you 
to marry me. Because, much as I respect and 
esteem you, I can never give you the love 
which I have given and still give to another, 


‘'All’s Well That Ends Well.” 215 

and which I can neither recall nor withhold. 
You and I are on an equal footing in that re- 
gard, and I am not asking of you that which I 
cannot give. 

“But I respect, esteem and admire you. If 
you respect me; if you believe me to be honest 
and trustworthy ; why should the fact that you 
do not, cannot love me prevent your acceptance 
of a home such as I offer you? And why 
should my inability to love you prevent me 
from offering you a home and caring for you 
while we both live? Would we be acting rea- 
sonably, sensibly, if — under the circumstances 
as they exist — we were to remain single all our 
days?’’ 

“I do not wish to give you an answer now,” 
said Grace, after a silence of several minutes. 
‘T want to consider the matter and decide it 
when you are not by to influence my decision. 


2 i 6 Through Stress and Storm. 

I will write to you within a week from this 
time. But I want to tell you before you go,” 
she said, as her visitor rose to depart, “that if I 
should refuse your offer it will not be from any 
feeling of dislike toward you or distrust of you 

4 

on my part. On the contrary, I both respect 
and admire you. I have always liked you from 
the time when you were a young boy and I a 
little girl. And ever since the hour when you 
and I stood together at the bedside of poor Ben 
Gregor, and you unconsciously revealed to me 
your gentleness, nobility and courage, I have 
admired you more than I should care to tell 
you. But — Good-by. You shall hear from 
me soon.” 

It was three days after his conversation with 
Grace Coburn when Grover Hart received the 
reply for which he had been looking with more 
of interest than anxiety. It ran thus : 


''All’s Well That Ends Well.’ 


217 


“Home, December 2, 18 — . 

“Dear De. Hart: Since I last saw you 
I have given very earnest consideration to the 
subject we then discussed, and have come to a 
conclusion in regard to it. If I loved you, and 
you had no love for me, I would not marry you. 
If you loved me, and I did not love you, you 
could not induce me to marry you, though you 
were to lay the wealth of the world at my feet. 

“But as you neither offer me nor ask of me 
more than each of us can give to the other — 
namely, respect, regard and confidence — I am 
willing to do the best I can toward making 
your life a successful if not a happy one, if 
you wish me to try. Respectfully, 

“Grace Coburn.” 

Grover Hart winced a little when he read the 
latter part of this letter, remembering as he 
did that his object in asking Grace to marry 
him was not to promote his happiness, but the 


2 i 8 Through Stress and Storm. 

reverse. For a brief moment it may be that 
his mind dimly perceived the truth that to 
marry a bright, generous girl like Grace Co- 
burn for the purpose of being miserable in her 
society, was such a perversion of the holy de- 
sign of matrimony as to be obnoxious to every 
sensible way of thinking, as well as to every 
righteous rule of action. 

But so obstinate and absorbing was Grover 
Hart’s determination to punish himself, that 
both Reason and Conscience were denied ad- 
mission to the presence chamber, of his mind, 
and audience was given to Will alone. And 
so a few lines to Grace conveyed his acknowl- 
edgment of her note, and, in language that was 
positively cold, his thanks for her acceptance of 
his offer. 

And when he called on her, after the lapse of 
a few days from the time of receiving her note, 


‘‘All’s Well That Ends Well. 


219 


the subject of their approaching marriage was 
treated in a way which was as business-like as 
would have befitted the engagement of her ser- 
vices as a teacher. As there was to be no court- 
ship, no love-making, an early date for the 
marriage was agreed upon. And then the two 
went their separate ways ; he to his patients, she 
to teach until the end of the school term, and 
then make a few simple preparations for the 
wedding. So far as Grover Hart was concerned, 
the matter of his intended marriage did not 
occupy his thoughts or attention to so great an 
extent as did the condition and symptoms of his 
patients. He made no plans for the future; nor 
did he look forward to his wedding day with so 
much as a feeling of interest. 

But a little more than two weeks after his 
formal engagement to Grace, Grover Hart was 
surprised to receive a note from her asking him 


2 20 Through Stress and Storm. 

to call on her as soon as he should receive her 
message. It puzzled him a little to conjecture 
what she could wish to say to him that required 
anything like haste on his part. 

While on the way to the home of Grace Co- 
burn, something like conscience awoke in the 
mind of Grover Hart as he thought how far 
from lover-like his conduct toward Grace had 
been. During the time that they had been en- 
gaged he had taken pains to call on her but 
once; and although she was his promised wife 
he had never so much as spoken one affection- 
ate word to her, had never once pressed his lips 
to hers. 

True, he did not love her, and she could have 
no reason to expect that he would manifest a 
sentiment he could not feel. But she had a 
right to expect that he would show, by both his 
words and his conduct, that he had at least an 


221 


All’s Well That Ends Well.” 

affectioDate regard for her. And he made it a 
matter of solemn deliberation whether, at the 
conclusion of his interview with Grace, he 
ought not to say a few warmly appreciative 
words to her and offer her a kiss. 

But before he had reached a decision of this 
momentous question, he arrived at his destina- 
tion. He could not help observing that Grace’s 
manner toward him, though pleasant and 
friendly, was even more reserved than usual, 
and there was something in her face which re- 
vealed the fact that she had hardly emerged 
from a severe mental struggle. With good sense 
and genuine courtesy she did not wait for her 
visitor to ask why she wished to see him, but 
at once took the initiative. 

“I have asked you to call,” she said, “be- 
cause I have something important to say to you. 
And it is also important that it should be said 


22 2 Through Stress and Storm. 

as soon as possible. You have always been so 
kind to me, you have always appreciated me so 
much more highly than I have deserved, and 
you are so sensible withal, that I have no fear 
that you will think me either fickle or foolish 
when I ask you to release me from my engage- 
ment to you. I should feel that I ought to, that 
I must do this, even if it should cause you pain 
to release me. But I am glad to know that 
even if you should feel some regret at the de- 
struction of your plans, it will cause you no 
real sorrow to give me up.” 

“But may I ask why you make this request?” 
inquired Hart, too much surprised to *know 
whether he was or was not sorry. 

“You certainly may,” was the answer. 
“And 1 was about to tell you as well as I may 
be able, although I shall probably fail to make 
the reason at all clear to you. It is not because 


“All’s Well That Ends Well.” 223 

of what you are or are not. Neither is it on ac- 
count of anything which you have done or 
failed to do. I respect you, esteem you, admire 
you even more than I did on the day when you 
asked me to marry you. 

“But I cannot marry you, because you do not 
love me and I do not love you. You may think 
it strange that this should be the reason, in 
view of the fact that I knew all this from the 
first. But I knew it and yet I did not know it 
— that is, I did not realize it as I do now. 

“I shall not be able to make you understand 
just what my thoughts and feelings are, be- 
cause you are not a woman. In all my consid- 
eration of the question whether I should or 
should not marry you, I thought 'only of our 
mental association with each other as husband 
and wife. I did not want to marry you so that 
you could provide me with food and clothing. 


2 24 Through Stress and Storm. 

I can do that for myself. I did not think of 
marrying you for a home. I have a good home 
now, and I have no fear but that I can always 
have one as long as I live. 

“But I appreciate your intellectual gifts and 
acquirements to such an extent that I am actu- 
ally proud of them and of you, although you 
are only my friend ; and I need not tell you that 
I should be much more proud of you, were you 
my husband. 

“And I could not help picturing to myself 
the happiness it would bring me to share your 
confidence; to talk with you of your studies, 
your researches, your work ; to sit with you in 
the light of the evening lamp and read to you, 
or hear you read to me; to talk with you of all 
the things that interest you ; to cheer and en- 
courage you in all the plans, the purposes, the 
achievements of your noble life. God could 


All’s Well That Ends Well.” 225 

never give me a happier heaven than such a life 
with you would be, if only I loved you. 

“And on the day when you called here after 
receiving my note, though we talked little ex- 
cept concerning our marriage, I was so pleased 
with your manner and charmed by your con- 
versation, that I felt very complacent over my 
good fortune as your promised wife. But after 
you had gone, it occurred to me that you did 
not even shake hands with me when you came 
nor when you went, and that you had never 
taken me in your arms, nor kissed me, although 
I knew this to be both usual and proper in the 
case of affianced lovers; and somehow I found 
myself shuddering at the very thought of your 
doing so. 

“This fact was a disturbing one and led me 
to reflect — as I never before had done — that 
while we were betrothed, we were not lovers ; 


2 26 Through Stress and Storm. 

and that our marriage would involve some- 
thing more to me than caring for our home, pre- 
paring our meals, keeping your wardrobe in 
order and talking or reading with you. 

“Did I love you and did you love me, it 
would be no sacrifice for me to sink my indi- 
viduality wholly in yours; to resign myself, 
my heart, mind and physical being to your 
care, guidance and protection; to let my heart 
respond to every impulse of your heart toward 
me; to let your mind so dominate my own that 
your thoughts should be my thoughts, your 
wishes my will ; to have you take me in your 
arms, hold me to your heart, and take from my 
willing lips kisses of pure love and passionate 
devotion. As it is, the very thought of such a 
thing fills me with aversion amounting almost 
to positive loathing. 

“Were I married to you, I should within a 


Airs Well That Ends Well.” 227 

few months, in spite of myself, hate your very 
presence. And have you ever thought” — and 
as she said these words she averted her face, 
placed her arm on the arm of her chair and 
dropped her forehead on her arm — “that if we 
were to marry and live together as husband 
and wife, it might be that we should not always 
be the only inmates of our household? And 
have you thought, further, that, in that case, 
those whom God might send into our home for 
us to care for, nurture and rear, might be your 
children, might be my children, but — though 
born in purity and honor — they could never be, 
in any true sense, our children? 

“You may think that my entertaining such 
thoughts is unmaidenly — indecent, if you will; 
but I am a woman,” and she raised her head, 
turned her face toward him, her cheeks crim- 
son, her eyes wet but gleaming with emotion, as 


2 28 Through Stress and Storm. 

she continued, “and God gave me my woman- 
hood as a holy trust, to be preserved in its puri- 
ty. And I should be false to God and to my own 
soul, were I to suffer this temple of the Holy 
Spirit to be profaned by that which is unholy 
or unclean. And there is nothing so unholy, 
so unclean, so defiling to the moral nature as a 
marriage without mutual love, let the excuse 
for such a marriage be what it may. 

“You cannot realize how hard it has been 
for me to compel myself to say all this to you. 
But I gave you my promise, and you have a 
right to know every reason which influences me 
to recall that promise. And moreover, you are 
a pure-minded, Christian gentleman; the only 
man on earth to whom I could open my heart 
as I have to you. 

“God only knows what it would be to me, 
could we love one another. But as it is, much 


‘‘All’s Well That Ends Well.” 229 

as I honor you, and though I could never have 
a shadow of respect for the being who won my 
heart only to break it, still, if he were now stand- 
ing by your side, and I were given the choice 
to marry you or to marry him, I should marry 
him and not you; and in so deciding I should 
be doing right. 

“ * Our gifts once given must there abide; 

We have no heart 
To change our gifts, though vain. ’ 

“lam not going to say that ‘141 be a sister to 
you,”’ she went on, as Dr. Hart remained 
silent, because there was really nothing to say. 
“I could never be a sister to you. But whether 
you wish it or not, I shall be your true friend 
and most enthusiastic admirer as long as I 
live.” 

Grover Hart went from the presence of Grace 


230 Through Stress and Storm,. 

Coburn with his mind in a state of turmoil on 
account of the manner in which his engagement 
to her had been terminated. He could not feel 
offended by what she had done; she had left 
him no reasonable ground for taking offense ; 
and not being in love with her, he could not 
claim a lover’s privilege of feeling offended 
without reason. 

And the more he thought of her reason for 
breaking the engagement, the more clearly he 
perceived his folly and moral perversity in con- 
templating a marriage with her. So keen be- 
came the reproaches of his conscience for the 
wrong he intended, that he began to question his 
right to go at large. He queried whether he 
ought not to denounce himself to the authorities 
and be sent to prison as one not having suflS- 
cient practical knowledge of the distinctions 
between that which is right and that which is 


“All’s Well That Ends Well.” 231 

wrong, in a given case, to be given the liberty 
usually permitted to members of society. 

In this frame of mind he entered the post 
office, and was there given a letter at sight of 
which his heart stood still. For in everything 
except the date of the postmark, the envelope 
was a duplicate of the one which was delivered 
to him at the post office in Pittsburg on that 
terrible evening in October but a few months 
before. Hardly realizing what he was doing 
he opened it and read : 

“ Railway Company, 

“Office of Surgeon-in-chief, ^ 
“Philadelphia, Dec. 18 , 18 — . 
“Grover Hart, M.D., Z , Ohio. 

“Dear Sir: Not until within the past two 
weeks was any information received at the gen- 
eral offices of this road concerning the accident 
which occurred to Mr. Gregor, an employee of 
this company, one year ago last June. 


232 Through Stress and Storm. 

“For some unaccountable reason, the section 
foreman failed to report the accident. And as 
Dr. Clifford was not called to attend the case, 
no report was furnished from that quarter. 

“About two weeks ago Mr. Gregor presented 
a claim against this company for compensation 
in damages on account of the injury. His state- 
ment that he was the victim of an accident 
while in the service of this road, led to an in- 
vestigation. This investigation brought out the 
fact that it was through your manly courage 
and surgical skill that Gregor’s life was saved, 
and — incidentally — the company protected from 
liability for such damages as might have been 
recoverable had the result been otherwise. 

“The claim of Mr. Gregor has been amica- 
bly and satisfactorily adjusted. But the 
officers of the company do not feel that the mat- 
ter ought to be dismissed, so far as you are con- 
cerned, with nothing more than the expression 
of their thanks. 


All’s Well That Ends Well.” 233 


*T have the pleasure of informing you that 
you have been appointed general assistant sur- 
geon for this company from this date. This ap- 
pointment will interfere somewhat with your 
practice in your own behalf, but you will be 
at liberty to devote as much time as you choose 
to general practice, provided you hold yourself 
in readiness to respond to any calls which the 
company may make upon you. 

“Your salary will be two thousand dollars 
for the first year, with such increase from time 
to time thereafter as your ability and useful- 
ness to the company may justify. You will 
please report at this oflSce, at your early conven- 
ience, for further instructions as to your duties. 

“Yours truly, 

“A. B. Chester, M.D., 
“Surgeon- in- Chief, Ry. Co.” 

Any strong emotion sent the thoughts of 
Grover Hart to the Bible. From this book his 


234 Through Stress and Storm. 

mind seemed at once to extract the very sen- 
tence or clause most expressive of his thoughts 
or feelings. On this occasion his soul seemed 
to descend into the depths of the valley of 
humiliation and shame under the force of the 
words, “The Lord shall have them in derision. ” 
It seemed to him that the Lord of the universe 
was deriding him for his weakness and folly. 

In the hour of his great trial he had forgot- 
ten that “it is written, Thou shalt not tempt 
the Lord thy God.’’ He had presumptuously 
insisted that God should send to him, at Pitts- 
burg, a certain indication of His will that he 
should marry Evelyn. God had refused to be 
dictated to in any such manner; had left him to 
take counsel of his own foolish fears, and to 
suffer the terrible consequences. God was now 
demonstrating to him the folly as well as the 
wickedness of his course. 


‘‘ All’s Well That Ends Well.” 235 

One who might have observed the trembling 
hand and pale, haggard face of Grover Hart as 
he replaced Dr. Chester’s letter in the envelope 
and walked with uncertain steps out of the post 
office, would hardly have thought him to be 
one who had just received what ought to have 
been good news. 

It was not until three days had elapsed after 
receiving notice of his appointment, that Grover 
Hart had so far recovered from the soul-sickness 
caused by the reflections which the intelligence 
of his appointment produced in his mind, as to 
be able to undertake the journey to Philadel- 
phia. 

His business at the railway offices occu- 
pied the greater part of the afternoon of the 
day of his arrival. At the conclusion of his 
interview with Dr. Chester, he paid a brief 
visit to Independence Hall, and thence took 


236 Through Stress and Storm. 

his way along C Street, observant only of 

the fact that the light of the short, December 
day had well-nigh faded from the western sky. 

As he was scanning the heavens, according 
to his habit from early boyhood, his eye rested 
on the planet Venus, then at its brightest, shin- 
ing like a small moon among the lesser lumin- 
aries that adorned the sky. And as he fixed 
his attention steadily upon the planet that had 
once been to him the Star of Love, the feeling 
of anguish which for weeks and months had 
never left him by day or by night, seemed to 
grow less keen and there crept into his heart a 
feeling that was akin to peace. 

So absorbed was the mind of Grover Hart in 
the contemplation of the star, that he failed to 
see a carriage standing at the curbstone, a foot- 
man holding the door open for a lady who was 
walking rapidly toward the carriage with the 


All’s Well That Ends Well.” 237 

manifest intention of entering it. He was re- 
called to the things of this earth hy becoming 
aware that he had rudely collided with some 
one. Turning to apologize, the next fact of 
which he was conscious was that he was hold- 
ing the hand of Evelyn Atherly in his own, and 
was talking to her in tones so low that the foot- 
man standing a few feet away could not dis- 
tinguish the words, but in a voice so broken, so 
hurried and so strange that he seemed like one 
demented. 

“Wait a moment!’’ he said; ,‘T must speak 
to you I I did not change toward you. You 
wronged me in thinking that I did. I never 
loved you more than I did when I wrote that 
foolish, wicked letter. I have always loved 
you. I shall always love you. I do not ask 
you to forgive me. I know that you can never 
forgive me for my wickedness and folly. I can 


238 Through Stress and Storm. 

never forgive myself. But, as God hears me, 
I have never ceased to love you, and I wrote 
that brutal letter because I loved you more than 
I loved my life.” 

After the first shock of surprise and alarm at 
being so suddenly and rudely detailed by one 
so changed by mental suffering that at first she 
did not recognize him, Evelyn listened calmly 
to his wild Words until he paused. Then she 
replied, somewhat coldly: ‘‘When I received 
your letter I could not understand why you 
wrote it. Nor can I now understand how you 
could have inflicted upon me such disappoint- 
ment, sorrow and suffering, if you had any 
love for me. But I should be willing to hear 
your explanation, if it were not for the fact that 
I have heard that you are to marry another. 
Such being the case it would be wrong for you 
to try to explain your conduct toward me, as it 


All’s Well That Ends Well ” 239 

is wrong for me to talk with you as we are now 
doing. Please release my hand and let me go.” 

Instead of complying with her request, Grover 
Hart closed his hand on Evelyn’s even more 
vigorously than before as he said, vehemently : 
“That was true, but it isn’t true now. I was a 
fool, a coward, a villain! But I never pre- 
tended to love any one but you. I am not prom- 
ised to any one, I am never going to marry any 
one ! And I don’t want to let you go till you 
tell me that you believe me, that you believe 
that I have always loved you and that I love 
you now. Will you not tell me so?” he asked, 
his tones losing their decided ring and becom- 
ing tremulous and tender. 

“I can believe what you tell me,” she an- 
swered in sympathetic accents. “I do believe 
you. And I do not know why I should not for- 
give you as well, although you do not ask it. 


240 Through Stress and Storm. 

And if it were not that you are so determined 
never to marry, I could see no good reason 
why everything between us should not be as it 
was before you wrote me that cruel letter.*’ 

Neither Grover Hart nor Evelyn Atherly were 
aware of the fact that Venus was letting her 
clear, mellow rays fall upon them as he asked, 
eagerly : 

“Then may I keep your hand?” 

Not until that instant had she once lifted her 
gaze from an apparent study of the sidewalk 
on which they were standing. But at his ques- 
tion, the eyes which had first disclosed their 
glorious beauty to him on the banks of the 
Maumee, were lifted to his own, and her an- 
swer fell upon his ears in one softly-spoken 
word: 

“Forever!” 


THE END. 


THE 


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114 

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AUTHORS AND ARTISTS 




Collins, Wilkie. 
Cruiksliank, George, Jr. 

Ge Mezailles, Jean. 
Dickens.. Charles. 
Drummond, Henry. 
Flattery, M. Douglas. 
Gardner, W. H. 

Graham, Marie. 

Hamilton, Sam A. 

Hamm, Margherita Arlina. 
Hartt, Irene Widdemer. 
Howard, Dady Constance. 
Jennings, Fdwiu 15. 
Johnson, Stanley Fdwards. 
Jokai, Maurus. 

Kaven, F. Thomas. 
Hearney, Belle. 


Kent, Charles. 
Mankowski, Mary D. 
Martyn, Carlos. 

Miller, Andrew J. 

Munn, Charles Clark. 
Napoliello, R. K.‘ 

Palier, Fmile A. 

Parkes, Harry. 

Pash, Florence. 

Rideal, Charles F. 
Runyan, N. P. 

Scribner, Kimball. 
Stevenson, Robert Ijouie 
Tabor, Fdward A. 
Tolstoy, Count. 

Walker, Jessie A. 
Winter, C. Gordon. 


ADYERTISING AGENTS’ DIRECTORY, THE. 

Arranged alphabetically and in States, including 
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AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 

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CHARLES DICKENS’ HEROINES AND WOMEN 
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3 


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4 



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7 



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